Truth or Dare
by Lunalelle
Summary: Hermione is magically Dared to seduce Professor Snape.
1. One Day in the Life & Challenge

This is very much a prologue-so much so, it has very little to do with the actual plot. More like setting the scene. Enjoy. Thanks to my betas Lillies and Remains and Kjrsten.

Disclaimer: I own only the plot. The characters belong to J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., etc. I am not making any money. Unfortunately. The Revel is something appropriated from KazVL's Falling Further In.

**NOTE: At the time of writing this, it was not revealed that Blaise was male, and some theorized that he could be female. This is a very old fic, and changing ToD!Blaise into a boy just won't work.**

**Prologue: A Day in the Life of Severus Snape**

"Mr. Finnegan, what color did I say the Inside-Out Solution was supposed to be?"

"Uh... dark green, sir."

"And what consistency ought it be?"

"Thick, like honey, sir."

"Precisely, Mr. Finnegan. And, pray tell, what is the color and consistency of your solution?"

"Cyan and watery, sir."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for failing to accurately follow directions and for that eye roll. Mr. Thomas, I expected better of you. I would advise you to aid your partner rather than drool over Miss Brown. Five points... Ah, Messrs. Weasley and Potter. I don't seem to recall allowing a ludicrous amount of overtime for completion. If you find it so necessary to socialize, I feel it my duty to take off fifteen points each... Wipe that smug look off your face, Miss Granger, don't think I didn't notice you did all the work. Five points off, Miss Patil for not doing your share."

The rant had become routine by now, and Severus Snape barely thought twice when commenting before each Gryffindor cauldron. It did not half bother him that he usually could not find anything wrong with Miss Granger's potion-she had become remarkably sensitive at just how long she could brew the potion quickly, but not too quickly to arouse his wrath, as well as keep very quiet. She had slowly restrained herself from raising her hand so much in his class. He did not know how other teachers faired, but he found it a relief. He usually made up for the lack of points taken from Hermione's potion by taking extra points from Potter's and Weasley's potion, with whom he usually found a myriad of mistakes but could only realistically punish one or two at a time.

"Now here, Messrs. Potter and Weasley, is the way a potion should be brewed. Note, Mr. Finnegan, the dark forest green and precise consistency. You are free to bottle, Mr. Malfoy."

How he hated licking Lucius' son's boots. And the boy had no talent of his own in Potions. Draco only made a point to keep Miss Granger within his line of vision, then copied her motions. But Mr. Malfoy did have one redeeming quality, and that was his deviousness. The boy knew how to cover his tracks, even under the sharp eyes of the Potions Master.

A sudden explosion behind Snape made him freeze, then sigh. As suspected, the cauldron had been contorted as it tried to bend inside-out. Neville had made the potion far too strong. Now the floor was trying to bend...

"Mr. Longbottom, perhaps we should be keeping records of how many cauldrons one person can destroy in seven years. You will stay after class and clean the mess you've made. You are incredibly fortunate that the solution was volatile but not corrosive. No, Mr. Longbottom! Put out the fire first, you fool of a boy! Use what microscopic common sense you have!"

There was a smattering of sniggering from the Slytherin side of the room, and Snape whirled to face them.

"Is everyone finished? Fine. Leave your cauldrons here. I'll store the solutions and cauldrons for next class myself. Now get out of my sight!"

Students scurried from his presence; even the Slytherins knew when Snape's patience was being tried.

It took only a short time for Longbottom to clean his mess, and under Snape's menacing glare, Neville scrubbed double time. Then, like a little mouse, Longbottom fled the room, leaving it mercifully empty.

In the absence of anyone else, Snape exhaled heavily. He was spy for the Headmaster, uninformative spy for Lord Voldemort, whipping boy for Lucius and Wormtail, whose head was so bloated it could be mistaken for a dirigible-and Hogwarts' resident actor. Having to maintain a dual façade of the biased Slytherin favor for the students and the cold but calm exterior for the teachers was no easy task, especially to fool both the Headmaster and McGonagall-who knew him better than a mere passing acquaintance-into believing he was coping.

Not to mention his headaches from feigning twenty-twenty vision. He was lucky he had such an acute sense of smell, a Potions university-level requirement, otherwise he would have a time of it running into desks and cauldrons and students.

As was his habit between classes, he retrieved his glasses from the bottom left drawer of his desk, polished them, and set them on the considerable bridge of his nose. They were rimless and rectangular, similar to McGongall's, but thicker. Cruciatus left its mark in more ways than one. He supposed he was lucky to even be able to see. There were rumors that some of the followers lower in the ranks than Death Eaters, like the notorious Black Dogs and Cats' Paws, were completely blind.

Between hours, with his glasses on, he took his chance to painlessly read essays. Ravenclaws (and the occasional Hufflepuff and Gryffindor) despite their lack of depth, if not imagination, were often the most accurate to read and were corrected less often. When he wanted to relax, he usually chose one of these. Slytherin essays were the most entertaining; a virtual cornucopia of original ideas comparable to Ravenclaw profundity of established ideas made for enjoyable afternoons, but only if he was prepared for prolonging his headache. Too many times the ideas discussed were off-topic, ranging from slight digression to completely out of the Quidditch stadium. It was enough to make even the most laid back of professors frustrated, and Snape was certainly not laid back.

Ravenclaw essays, that's what he needed today. And his next class was seventh-year pre-university levels, with seminar and potion theory coupled with communal brewing. Easily his most enjoyable class. Doubtlessly, a majority of them called him a bastard to their friends, but he was confident they unconsciously appreciated the challenges he forced upon them.

However, late afternoon class was first-year Hufflepuffs, and though a more eager class was never found, their everlasting pokable bubble of positivity and never-ending optimism was relentlessly stifling at best.

A murmur of footsteps began echoing in the classroom, and Snape put down his quill and hid his glasses. When the first seventh-year walked in the door, Snape was leaning against the front of this desk, arms crossed, leering, and ready for his next performance.

~888~

Dinner was always a difficult affair. On his left was Flitwick and to the right, Hooch. Hooch was manageable, preferring the conversation of Sinistra to her right rather than risking disdainful rejection, but Flitwick, despite his tiny stature, had a surprising strength of will and perseverance that even Snape could not waver. Snape had many times told Flitwick he could put his dialogue up his arse, but in vain.

"One of your students, Severus, made a remarkably astute observation in my advanced Charms class today," Flitwick squeaked. "He pointed out a discrepancy in my usual lecture on inanimate object curses. I gave him twenty points, of course, and adjusted my curriculum. The things about your Slytherins is that you wonder whether no one ever noticed the discrepancy or they just didn't have the courage to enlighten me..."

As Snape tended to do, he tuned out, turning his thoughts inward. Tonight, all second- and fifth-year essays had to be graded and next month's lessons had to be more specifically planned. Also on the list, he included several potions he had been meaning to brew for some time.

A sharp, glittering silver stab of pain exploded in his left arm, and it was all he could do not to grunt from the effort of masking the fire.

"Flitwick," he managed to say through clenched teeth, "I regret that I have to leave you. I seem to recall an engagement I had previously forgotten. Tell the Headmaster I will meet with him later tonight as planned." Snape knew the code would be comprehended by the Headmaster, and Dumbledore would be waiting for him in the private study off of the Headmaster's office when Snape returned.

One of the staff rumors was that he had a woman who he consistently visited weekly. Lord Voldemort would be highly amused at the assumption.

He took the usual back staircase in which he stored his Death Eater cloak and mask. The way led him quickly out of Hogwarts protection so that he could Disapparate.

~888~

Lord Voldemort sat on a throne of carved stone, proud and malicious. His eyes flashed when he saw his personal traitor. But the Dark Lord was flatteringly convinced that he provided Snape with more challenge and intrigue than his arch-nemesis. Lord Voldemort had made the fatal error of underestimating Severus Snape.

However, Snape's 'loyalty' to his Dark Master did not hinder the abuse that regularly came his way.

Snape knelt and crept to Lord Voldemort's boots. He kissed the left sole-something only he, as a traitor, was forced to do-then slunk to the side, slouching sulkily. The Dark Lord had not kicked him tonight. He did not know whether to interpret this as a good sign or not of the events to follow. Lord Voldemort seemed distant, and it was several minutes after all the Death Eaters had assembled before Lord Voldemort looked up and addressed them.

"It has come to my attention that festivities in Malfoy Manor traditionally follow our meetings." He paused. No one replied, but waited for the Dark Lord to continue. If he had wanted an answer, he would have asked a question. "And at these festivities, you 'borrow' Muggles and Mudbloods as toys, disposing of evidence as soon as you're through with them. It has also come to my attention that you have not had one in months. And yet you have never told me of any of this. Are you ashamed of it? Do you think it counterproductive? Do you think I would disapprove? How do you presume to know Lord Voldemort?" He sat back with a lazy smirk. "Why have I never been invited, Lucius?"

Lucius Malfoy bowed quickly. "My lord, I thought you were otherwise occupied and would not like to waste your time frivolling."

Lord Voldemort bored his glittering red eyes into Malfoy's. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably under his glare. "You accuse yourself of wasting time? You know how I punish idle workers. . . . Yet, I do not find this messy self-indulgence unprofitable. Did it never occur to you that I did such things before the founding of the Death Eaters?"

He gestured toward an open door. "In that atrium, I have five young Muggle girls and one Muggle boy-child. I wish to observe your ways with them. I'll tell you if you should be ashamed of them or not."

Avery and MacNair shared a lecherous look, then joined Nott in passing into the hall. Bellatrix Lestrange was not far behind.

"Aren't you joining us, Severus?" Lord Voldemort asked, outwardly pleasant, but his words were underlaid with unblemished steel. Snape did not even move an inch.

"Snape never joins the fun," Lucius explained, anticipating a sharp blow for Snape.

"I see," Lord Voldemort murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Any reason you wish to share with me?" The tone suggested that he answer.

"I catch my own food," Snape said quietly.

"It would not hurt to take one only one time, Snape," Malfoy argued. "You spend all your time with those potions of yours. What are you working on now, old boy, a potency potion?"

If Malfoy was looking for an indignant retort, he was mistaken. Unfazed by the insult, Snape stood still where he was and refused to move.

The Dark Lord laughed. "In that case, I have another assignment for you, Severus, if you are not planning to entertain yourself with us. I find it tedious myself, but torture never ceases to wonder me."

Lord Voldemort handed Snape a rolled parchment.

"Deliver this to the recipient personally," Lord Voldemort commanded before leaving Snape there alone.

~888~

Snape stumbled into his quarters well after three in the morning. He had belatedly decided to join the torture of the Muggles to avoid the Dark Lord's piercing scrutiny as he explored the fortress in which Lord Voldemort had barricaded himself, and the effort of casting so many energy-driven curses exhausted him. Then he had reported to Dumbledore, telling the Headmaster the names of the girls being tortured and other new little details Snape had managed to collect. These little bits of information were the only things that kept him alive, that made him feel he was still worthy to live. Dumbledore had given him a verbal punishment well enough when he had first turned back to the Light, and his quiet disappointment, even when Snape had been a student, had always been far more effective than his loud anger for Snape.

Snape fell into bed without removing his outer garments. He had a class next day, but he could not bring himself to grade the essays for the remainder of the night.

So with that, Snape fell into a trouble sleep and dreamed of fat unicorns, hands raising, and books piled to the sky. His face was drawn and haggard, and he tossed in his sleep.

**Chapter 1: Challenge**

**Chapter 1: Challenge**

Hermione, Ron, and Harry trudged up the hill to Hogwarts after Care of Magical Creatures.  
Ron's hands were trembling violently and his eyes were bugging out like a dragonfly's.

"Spiders. . ." he murmured to himself. "If Hagrid wants us to take care of them next, I'm getting myself expelled. Or better, killed. I'm sure Snape wouldn't mind giving me a fast-acting poison. An Acromantula? . . . What was he thinking? . . ."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "it wasn't that bad. It was actually pretty interesting. It's only a baby, after all. And they're supposed to be really intelligent, they move at cheetah speed. . . honestly, they're fascinating. They're better than Skrewts. What's so wrong about them anyway?"

Harry interrupted, "Right now, I just want some dinner." The wonderful smells the house-elves were concocting promised some fine stuffed Cornish hen and mushrooms.

"Scared, Weasley?" sneered a voice from behind them.

All three whipped around.

"Malfoy," said Harry. "What do you want?"  
"I wanted to know whether fire-head boy here was scared of those cute little spiders. I might actually consider breeding them myself, just to see the look on your face."

"I wasn't scared, Malfoy," Ron said through clenched teeth.

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly. "You just went pale, staggered back and nearly vomited on the cucumbers. I have no idea how I thought you were scared."

Ron lunged at Malfoy, his face transitioning from paper white to a furious shade of maroon in three seconds. Hermione and Harry grabbed him from the back of his robes.

"You'd better watch out, Malfoy," Harry said calmly. "One of these days, we might let him loose."

"Your Gryffindor nobility wouldn't allow it," Draco replied, beckoning to two figures behind him. Pansy Parkinson joined him at his side, smiling maliciously. Blaise Zabini stepped forward but remained insolently and indifferently in the background.

"Where are your bodyguards, Malfoy?" Hermione said coolly. "I'd think you'd be a bit more wary after last year."

"I propose a challenge with you three Gryffindors," Draco said, "versus us three Slytherins. A battle of wits that results in humiliation, pain, shock, and sometimes insanity. Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't be able to handle it. Your only benefit is that we get the same treatment."

Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Just what are you proposing?"

Draco smiled. It was nasty.

"Wizard's Truth or Dare."

While Harry and Hermione just looked confused, Ron's entire face transformed in recognition and surprise.

Draco folded his arms and said, "So the little people can understand what I'm asking, let me explain. Wizard's Truth or Dare is approximately equal to wizard duels in sobriety. A spell, an unalterable spell, determines who challenges whom and whether you will be challenged with a truth or a dare as well as the order of the challenges. You have to swear to do what your challengers decide to do. The spell is impartial. Well, what do you think, Potter. . . Weasley. . . Granger?"

"I thought the person being challenged gets to choose whether they get Truth or Dare," Hermione said.

Draco shook his head. "That takes the fun out of it. So, what do you say?"

"I'm in," Ron volunteered immediately.

"Ron!" Hermione responded sharply. "Can't you see he's baiting us?"

" 'Mione, our honor is at stake," Harry explained. "What else can we say but 'yes'? I'm in, Malfoy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I can think of plenty of things to say in response to that: No way, no, nuh-uh, nix, nada, not this millennium, do you think I'm stupid, but since you two are so bent on killing yourselves, I suppose someone sensible should go down with you. Count me in, Malfoy."

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and groaned, "This is going to come to haunt me, I know it."  
Draco was grinning more than ever now. "Great," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Meet us tonight in the empty classroom next to Charms. Quarter 'til midnight. Bring your wands. See you tonight."

He pushed past them and entered Hogwarts.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, bewildered. Her face was contorting into awful shapes, like she was going to cry or scream or both.

"If they end up making me fail my classes, it will be entirely your fault, and I will kill you, Ronald Weasley!" she cried. Then she ran into the Entrance Hall. She would not talk with them for the rest of the evening.

~888~

"He'd better not pull that stunt he did first year," said Harry, leaning wearily against the dusty wall.

"I really wouldn't be surprised," Hermione replied from her position lying on the floor, head rested against her arms, "but you've got the map, don't you?"

Harry nodded and checked his watch. Hermione had given him one for Christmas last year. "He's ten minutes late."

"Don't worry, Scarhead, I'm here," Malfoy said, slipping through the doorway, followed by Blaise and Pansy. "Filch nearly caught us, and I needed to transfigure a water cup into a rat before Mrs. Norris would leave us alone."

"We're all in tears, Malfoy," Ron sneered

"Sod off, Weasley, and give me your wand."

"And watch you break it, yeah, right. . ."

Blaise exhaled impatiently. "Any wand made after '95 is equipped with an Anti-breaking spell. Grow up, Weasley, and give him the stupid wand."

So surprised was Ron at hearing the normally closemouthed Blaise speaking more than five words, he surrendered his wand without further ado.

"What do you need our wands for, Malfoy?" Harry asked, in a tense attempt at being polite, reluctantly yielding his own precious wand.

"Part of the spell, Potter," Malfoy answered, arranging all their wands into a six-pointed star. "Now stand at the tip of your wand and hold the hands of the people next to you. Happy hour, everyone."

Ron pulled a face at the prospect of holding hands with Pansy, the one whose wand was to the left of his own, but he obeyed, flinching at her touch.

"Look, Weasley," snapped Pansy, "this isn't a bed of roses for me either, so lighten up and let's get this over with."

Hermione was on Ron's other side, but Malfoy was holding her right hand. His fingers were strong against hers, and cold. He gave her a mischievous look, then turned back to the center of the circle. Harry was on his other side.

"Now, everyone stay as quiet and still as they can, and I'll begin:

"Truth or Dare - Truth is the foundation of all beliefs, lies pose themselves in its name. It is everything beautiful and despicably ugly; it bites and soothes; it is sharp as a knife and as smooth as honey. In our honor, we honor Truth.

"A dare is the foundation of character. Dares let us go through life, taking risks never taken without the promise of adversity. It builds and tears down; it creates and destroys; it exults and profanes. In our honor, we honor Dare.

"We yield ourselves to these fates. To the Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, we pledge our promise to consummate our challenge. Our circle seals our pledge. Stars, if you judge our pledge worthy, begin our game." And he was silent.

Hermione never realized Draco could be so eloquent or serious, or that a simple Muggle game could be so solemn and complicated in the wizarding world. She felt like laughing, but when Draco closed his eyes, she was once again imbued with the sense that she was in over her head. She desperately wanted to withdraw from that circle of friends and enemies, from that circle of quickly concentrated power, glowing from the center of the star of wands. But she couldn't move under Malfoy's direction to stay still. She did not know what would happen to her if she did.

But she seriously wondered whether the consequences would be worse than not doing anything at all. Her feeling of dread augmented tenfold.

The globe of power exploded outward, halting just before hitting them, and disappeared. They wands suddenly levitated and started twisting around madly, like thin Sneakascopes. One by one, they floated to another member of the circle and spouted a hovering green or red number.

"Grab the wands," Draco whispered, and they all dropped hands and took the wands.

Hermione took Blaise's wand from in front of her. It was only nine inches long, made of a darker wood, but pliable and obviously very handy at Charms. The number two, tinged with crimson dissolved once her hand touched the grain.

"What ever number you had is the number in which you challenge the owner of the wand. If the color is red, the challenge is a Dare. If the challenge is a Truth, the color is green." Draco broke his untypical sobriety and smiled malevolently. "I'm Daring you last, Granger. You just wait; this is going to be interesting."

Hermione shot a murderous glare at Ron and Harry as she sat down, cross-legged, on the floor. Everyone else followed suit until that sat in a circle matching the one they had previously made.

"You first, Pansy. Give Potter his wand back, if you're finished holding it." Malfoy snickered at his own humor. Harry ignored him and retrieved his wand, breathing an unconscious sigh of relief that it was safe in his care again.

Pansy sat back on her hands, gazing at Harry as she contemplated the Truth the incantation had assigned to her.

"Make it good, Pansy," Malfoy hissed. Blaise just looked bored.

Suddenly, Pansy's eyes lit up, and she said with relish, "In your dreams - your night dreams, I mean - who have you had sex with?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at the thought. "Not what I was expecting, nor as scathing as I wanted, but it's still good. Go on, Potter, tell the Truth."

Hermione watched Harry blush, his eyes shifting from behind his glasses.

"Come, Potter," continued Draco. "You know what happens if you don't answer a Truth in ten minutes? You won't be able to sit again until you answer. Now, enlighten us all."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione said, "you're just making it worse. Besides, Harry's Daring you; I wouldn't be so cruel if I were you."

That shut Draco up.

Harry gave a relieved thanks in his eyes to Hermione, then resumed his brooding.

Finally, he mumbled something into his lap.

"What was that, Potter?" Pansy said cheerfully. "We couldn't quite hear you."

"Cho Chang, Hannah Abbott, Julia Roberts, Lucy Liu, Hermione, McGonagall, Hooch, and in a completely off dream, I dreamed I was this girl named Mary Sue and I was shagging Snape. But I woke up and vomited right after it," he said quickly over the Slytherins' laughter.

Hermione muttered weakly, "You've slept with me in your dream?"

Harry threw up his hands. "It's not like I have a whole lot of control on my dreams, Hermione. We were in the middle of a duck pond and you had a rubber ducky in your mouth. I'm telling you, it's not like we were in a water bed or you were covered in whipped cream or anything. It was a dream."

Hermione nodded, but the horrible shock that one of her best friends had dreamed of shagging her definitely scarred her. She looked imploringly at Ron, but he was looking anywhere but her.

"Oh, Ron, not you, too!" she cried. "Tell me it was in a duck pond as well!"

Ron continued to avoid eye contact. Pansy howled.

"Oh, that is just too sweet," Draco crowed, wiping tears from his eyes.

"My turn," said Hermione angrily. "I get to Dare Blaise."

It took a while before everyone was able to quiet down and stop breaking into sporadic giggles, but eventually the fidgeting stopped.

Hermione pondered the cruelest cut she could afford the cool Slytherin. "Not much affects you, does it?" Hermione asked. Blaise shook her head, grinning slightly.

Hermione hummed random notes as she thought.

Then, "I Dare you to come home with me on winter holiday and stay with my Muggle family. No magic, courteousness, and no other conditions on your part."

Blaise was visibly shocked, finally breaking the apathetic composure. "I can't do that! My honor..."

"You have to," Hermione said, the beginning of a smile gracing her lips. "I Dared you, and you swore to execute your challenge."

Blaise opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came from her tongue. Suddenly, she sat back insolently and pouted sulkily, her dark eyes treacherous. Hermione felt it best not to tempt Blaise's temper, notorious during those rare times she slipped into her emotional side. She silently urged Harry and Ron to do the same.

"I accept," Blaise said grudgingly. "At least I get to Truth Weasley."

Ron turned decidedly green.

Blaise's hard countenance softened as she automatically started the challenge. "Gods forbid that I break the Truth or Dare long-standing tradition like Granger by not asked anything about sex. But I won't be as merciful as Pansy." Blaise ran a tongue along the edge of her teeth.

"Tell me, Weasley, how far have you gone with a girl? And if you've gone all the way, how many times, and was it good for you?"

Draco cocked his eyebrows. "You're not going to ask 'with whom'?"

"That's not my point, Draco. He can choose to divulge it if he likes, or if Granger forces it from him."

Now Ron's face was a flaming red comparable to a burning building. He looked down, avoiding Hermione's gaze with even more fervor, if possible.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked.

"Sorry, 'Mione. I've gone all the way. But it was only once, and it just happened."

"While or after we were going out," Hermione demanded, bracing herself for the answer she was expecting.

"During," said Ron weakly. "It was Fleur. She was on a job, and she felt like Ron for dinner, and she turned up the charm, and. . . well, she got me into the room above the Three Broomsticks, and she, well. . ." Ron began spluttering, torn by the hurt on Hermione's face.

"You forgot to tell us whether it was good for you, Weasley," said Draco, thoroughly enjoying himself now. Ron nodded.

"We can't hear you," sang Pansy.

"It was my first time," shouted Ron guiltily. "Of course I liked it."

"What was the best part?" Blaise asked.

"That wasn't part of the question, so I'm not answering it," Ron said. "Besides, I'm going to Truth Pansy right now."

"Don't be impulsive," Hermione warned. "That'll just wasted a good Truth."

Hermione had caught him just in time, and Ron chose his words carefully.

"How exactly, if you were given Veritaserum and just started spouting off information, do you feel about Malfoy?" he said.

Pansy froze at the challenge, then lowered her lashes and began speaking at record speed:  
"Draco's dad and my mum are old friends, and they arranged our marriage eleven years ago. We met on the first Hogwarts train, and I kissed him for the first time. I could tell he didn't like me then. But since then, I've grown a bit." She ran her hands deliberately over her voluptuous breasts and curvy hips. "But he certainly likes me now." Draco followed the trail her hands made and swallowed compulsively. "I think he's goodlooking, if selfish, conniving, if insolent and whiny at times, and he's a great caresser. You can't imagine what his hands can do." She closed her eyes and arched her back at the memory. Draco smirked at Ron's enviousness and stroked Pansy's leg. "I'm going to have to be obedient to him, and I'm going to hate that, but there's not much I can do, so I might as well enjoy something."

Hermione's eyes were clenched shut, and she had put her hands together as if in prayer. She was whispering reverently, "Thank you, thank you, thank you I wasn't born pureblood Slytherin."

"It's not that bad for most of us," said Blaise defensively, still irritated about the Dare. Both Draco and Pansy glared at her.

"My turn," Harry said with quiet glee. Ron gave a toothy grin and Draco blanched.

Rather than face the poisonous glowers of the Slytherins, Harry walked calmly to a corner and leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor. He tucked his legs up and hid his face, shutting out destractions, like he was on his broomstick above the Quidditch field, searching intently for the Snitch. After a full fifteen minutes-fifteen minutes of Hades for Draco-Harry grasped his prize. He sauntered over and sat down on Draco's right side where he had been positioned before. He leaned back on his elbows, smiling broadly. Draco was fidgeting with his nails.

"I Dare you, Draco Malfoy..." he paused, savoring the moment of terrible anticipation. "I Dare you to do one of two things within the rest of the school year: either kiss Filch - with tongue, like he was Pansy-or... kiss Mrs. Norris' backside. Whichever one of these you choose, you have to do it in front of the entire school, probably during dinner. Oh, and a nice long kiss, Malfoy, so that everyone in the Hall can see you."

Draco was as tight in every muscle as a wire. He looked up and caught eyes with Harry. There was anger in those cold, gray eyes, and fear and humiliation, but there was also... could it be respect?

"What do you know?" Draco said tensely. "Who would have thought you'd get it up by watching me do that, Potter?"

Harry just shrugged. "You can hardly expect me to make it easy for you, Malfoy."

Malfoy snatched his wand from Harry's clutches. But before he withdrew, he hissed at Harry through clenched teeth, "You've made a grave mistake, Potter. Oh, that was a good one, and Truths are limited anyway, so you got off easy. But I get to Dare your girlfriend here."

"Hermione isn't my girlfriend," Harry retorted, but his face was suddenly stricken of its smugness.

Draco smirked, then sat back and observed Hermione through half-closed lids. "Hmmm," he mused aloud, "what would top Potter's Dare for me? Far be it from me, like Blaise said, to digress from the sex tradition. But what should I make you do?" He continued to contemplate. Ron and harry shared a very worried glance, then turned to a very sickened Hermione.

"I've got it," said Draco, eyes lighting up. "You know, I don't know if you've noticed, but we"-he nodded to Blaise and Pansy-"and the rest of the Slytherins are always concerned about the well-being of our own."

Draco ran his tongue against his lips, drawing out Hermione Hermione's apprehension, even terror, to excruciating torture.

"Someone we know has been working his arse off. He always looks exhausted, irritable, and he's even beginning to take it out on us, which he's never done before. I've been thinking lately, maybe we should give him a gift to cheer him up a bit, excite him. What better gift than a young Mudblood girl that can actually look good when she cleans up?

"Granger, let me assure you I'm being nicer than I had originally decided. . . .

"I Dare you. . . to seduce and screw Professor Snape."

"What?" shouted Ron. Harry looked green at the gills. Hermione just looked dead.

Draco nodded, arrogance completely regained. "And that's not all. Let me emphasize exactly what I expect from you. Come closer." He slipped an arm around her shoulder. She didn't even react, but looked blankly ahead of her in shock.

Draco raise his wand. "_Visio_. Here's what I want, so you can't indirectly disobey my Dare. I want you to seduce him. I don't want you to go to him and expect him to do all the work. I want you to lead." A vision of flesh on flesh appeared on a burst of vapor that issued from Draco's wand. Wordless moans escaped the mouth of an anonymous girl. But the hair of the male, that familiar greasy, oil-colored, unkempt hair, made him all too familiar. "And after you have the initial sex with him, you will do whatever he asks of you." Another vision, fuzzier than the other, this one of a masculine hand pushing a female's head down below his waist. Hermione flinched. "And after he's had his way with you, you are to spend the rest of the night with him in his bed, against him, not on the other side. I want Snape to have all the pleasure he requires in one night. And you can't use magic: Enchantment Charms, Love Potions, stuff like that. Besides, that would take away half the fun. After all, all work and no play. . ."

He lowered his wand and the visions disintegrated. Draco gave Hermione a little squeeze around the shoulders, released her, and whispered, "I want this done within the school year, and I want confirmation that it took place directly from Snape himself. You got everything?"

Hermione nodded.

"Good." He got up and stretched, yawned. "Well, good night. It's late. Have pleasant dreams, Granger." He began to leave; Blaise and Pansy got up to follow him.

"Don't forget your Dares, Malfoy, Blaise!" shouted Harry weakly.

Draco pulled a face, then exited the scene.

"Hermione?" Ron said warily.

"Just go away, Ron," Hermione whispered.

"But. . ."

"Just go."

" 'Mione, we're sorry we dragged you into this," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"You, too, Harry. You go away, too."

Harry and Ron inched around her. Harry accidentally tripped over her wand, making it skitter across the floor.

More than guilty, like condemned men, Harry and Ron went back to Gryffindor Tower. It took them too long to get to sleep, and it seemed like mere minutes before Dean's alarm clock went off.

Hermione stayed prone on the classroom floor, tears-hot and shameful tears-streamed down her cheeks. She fell into an uneasy sleep and missed her first morning class, advanced Transfiguration, the next day because both Harry and Ron felt it would be dangerous to get her.

Next class that afternoon was Potions.


	2. Catastrophe

Sorry to say, this is going to remain a safe R, no NC17. I can't write sex very well. Foreplay to a certain extent, but not sex. Wait about five to ten years and we'll see. Also, my computer doesn't react well to adultfiction.net. It always has an error. Remember, I'm not sure what you all want to get out of it, but my objective is the journey, not the destination.****

**Chapter 2: Catastrophe**

Hermione did not want to get up at all, but she had already failed to react to the first clamoring of feet and idle gossip in the corridors, and she had narrowly missed being caught by two love birds a year younger than she, slipping into the room. Their lips seemed under a Lip Locker Curse, though the tongues interfered more and more as Hermione watched. When the boy began pulling up the girl's robes and sliding his hand underneath while she stroked and pulled between his legs, Hermione quickly cast a spell of the illusion of teachers' voices. The couple froze, the boy dropped the skirt of her robes, and the distanced themselves at arm length. As the pseudo-voices came closer, the two ran out, looking more rumpled than they would have liked. But Hermione got through it.

She could not miss another class without concerning a party she did not want to include in her predicament. Besides, she did not desire to give Malfoy the satisfaction of her skipping. So she Summoned her supplies, took a breath mint and a deep breath, and went to Potions.

"We are having--thank you, Miss Granger, for gracing us with your presence, ten points off--We are having a simple lesson today, since you have shown yourselves to be incapable of brewing even an Inside-Out Solution. Today, we shall discuss such banned potions that weren't banned for their dangerous properties, but for their profound results that people tend to take too lightly, such as the Rejuvenation Draft, the Enhancement Potion, the Love Potion..."

Snape was interrupted by Seamus' sniggering, Parvati's and Lavender's and Pansy's giggling, and Draco's nudging Blaise and looking pointedly at Hermione. Blaise shrugged Draco off.

"I'm sorry, I must have mistakenly scheduled a nursery school class today rather than advanced Potions Mastery. If anyone finds an Enhancement or Love Potion a joking matter, they can join my first year classes and leave." He waited. "Nobody? Then we'll continue."

Hermione had never noticed just how tall and broad-shouldered and intimidating Snape was. When he leaned against his desk as he typically did when lecturing rather than supervising, he crossed his legs at the ankles. It may have been the way his trousers were tailored, but his legs looked longer than Hermione would have originally guessed. She caught herself where her eyes had accidentally wandered and brought her attention back to his unlovely face.

She was supposed to seduce _this_?

He knew what he was talking about, Snape did. He rattled off the negative effects of the Rejuvenation Draft like he was reciting the alphabet.

"Its properties are closer to the Resurrection Draft, the unicorn of potions, and a forbidden one we'll discuss in more detail on a later date. It is infinitely easier than the Resurrection Draft to brew, but most mistakenly believe its purpose is to bring back the dead. Though it will raise the drinker from the grave, the person is not resurrected. Resurrection makes the subject exactly like he was before dying--which is rendered useless if the resurrected has died of old age or terminal illnesses, incidentally. Rejuvenation, however, takes the parts and makes them work again. Everything is there, but it lacks something essential to humanity. One might call it a soul. Rejuvenated people are not pleasant to be around. A short time after rejuvenation, you'll find the rejuvenated in their graves again, not entirely by natural or accidental causes. It is the misconception of its purpose that has banned a potentially useful potion. There are not a few maimed people who die waiting through all the bureaucracy to authorize the potion's use.

"The Enhancement Potion, in its own right, should not be banned. It is near impossible to make, the subtlest mistake resulting in impotency. If the finished product's coloring is even a shade off, the potion is a failure. When it does not work, it is as harmless as water. But there are a few gifted ones with the talent to brew this potion perfectly. They sell for stratospheric fortunes, but there is quite an underground interest in this potion, and so many deaths have resulted from its mere creation that it has been banned.

"Not only is its rarity dangerous, but it does not work as people expect them to. The subject expects to become ravishingly beautiful or sinfully handsome, but instead, the best features are accentuated and their bad features become more manageable. It is quite effective in cosmetic transformation, but it only works with what it has; it cannot transfigure."

Blaise raised her hand. "Just out of curiosity, sir, you said it takes great talent to brew the Enhancement Potion. Can _you_ make it?"

She had sincerely voiced the derisive question in everyone's mind, but only Blaise could ever get away with such bluntness. Snape knew her apathetic character enough to judge when she was really just indifferently curious.

"I don't know," Snape said shortly. "I've never tried it."

"We can tell," Ron whispered to Harry. "It would take more than one Enhancement Potion to make _him_ good-looking."

"I heard that, Mr. Weasley. Fifteen points from Gryffindor." Snape had somehow gone from the front of the room to behind Ron, next to Hermione. Hermione tensed, but Snape, after delivering his sentence, returned to his desk.

"Now, Love Potions... again, a remarkably easy potion to brew. The problem is the result, which I shall discuss as we make them right now. They are not fatal when misbrewed, so I'll permit it."

Hermione protested, "But you said they were banned...."

"Five points for questioning me, Miss Granger." He thrust a Ministry of Magic permission parchment. "Since I must prove my motives pure for my own students. Love Potions are simple to dispose of, Miss Granger, and you will be carefully monitored. Any other time, an alarm would go off in the Headmaster's and my office, so do not attempt to brew this against outside of class."

"Now, Love Potions, most inaccurately named. Those insane enough to make one are as imbued with lust as they intend their object of affection to lust for them after the potion. Only such thoughts would yield such a rash decision. But I'm a teacher, I must not judge," he said scornfully.

"The core of a Love Potion is chocolate, not anything you'll find at any sweet shop. You have to make it yourself; I've made it for you. It's on the corner of your desk. It has to be pure, no additives or preservatives or special spices. Pure, it is more aphrodisiatic than what you normally eat. Please do not slip some into your purse, Miss Parkinson, I only have so much. The core is magnified through the brewing process, causing the recipient to fall into a violent passion for the first person they see. Their first priority until an antidote is found is to fornicate with that most fortunate object of their affection. Accidents have been made. There was once a lady who had an amorous affair with a mannequin. Another woman fell in love with her house cat. Some of the politician scandals have been attributed to illegal Love Potion activity. It can also be used as a weapon. Auror Moody has had no less than twenty sent to him in his lifetime. It is perhaps the most chaotic and most restricted potion in existence, more so than even poisons or death draughts. All because of abandoned sense and raging hormones. Please complete your potions at this time."

Things went smoothly until the bottling. Oddly enough, this was the first potion Neville had completed perfectly and painlessly. Everyone, including Neville, was astonished. Snape simply looked down at the dark red, bubbling potion, raised his eyebrows, and continued on his student survey. He barely looked at Hermione's, which was an exact replica of Neville's. But...

"Finnegan!" he bellowed. "One would think that if Longbottom could concoct it correctly, the potion would be idiot proof. But you've made yours entirely too strong. Look at it! Bright red! Detention, Mr. Finnegan! This evening! Clean it up immediately!" Then Snape stalked to his desk.  
Big mistake.

Hermione was scrubbing the bottom of her cauldron when a hand slipped between her upper thighs. She jumped, her Scouring Solution splashing out the sides. A pair of teeth nibbled roughly along her ear, followed by an enthusiastic tongue. Hermione supposed it was meant to soothe the bites, but it only succeeded in making her ear very wet. Lavender and Parvati began giggling furiously.

"Want to skive off Charms and borrow a broom closet?" the person whispered lustily into Hermione's ear. Another hand crept up her stomach.

"Seamus!" Hermione squeaked.

"Yeah," Seamus muttered against her chin, obviously vying for her lips, despite Hermione's frantic squirming.

"Harry, Ron!" Hermione yelled desperately, very aware how much farther up both of Seamus' hands seemed to be getting.

But it was neither Harry nor Ron, nor even Dean, who saved Hermione. A black-swathed arm swept unceremoniously around Seamus' waist, pulling him forcefully away.

"Should have seen that one coming. Watch yourself, Mr. Finnegan, I'm sure Miss Granger has enough to worry about without you stalking her. Finnegan, do you want me to shut you in my office?" Seamus was still struggling to touch Hermione's hair. "Apparently so."

Snape wrapped Seamus in a bear hug, pinning Seamus' arms. Seamus was thrown carelessly through the office door and locked in. When Snape turned, Hermione saw for the first time the truth of Draco's statement: Snape looked dead tired. But the weariness evaporated rapidly, and he glided back to his desk, predictably ignoring Hermione's mental welfare.

Most of the Slytherin side were in stitches. Hermione noted Blaise's token indifference. She was coolly stacking her cauldron in the storage closet.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ron asked, unsurreptitiously repressing sniggers.

Hermione shrugged his hand off her shoulder, quickly dried her work area, stacked her cauldron in the closet, and made her exit.

~888~

Hermione was attempting to write a four foot length Arithmancy essay, but she was having trouble getting past the first inch.

The last twenty four hours had been filled with sex.

She did not remember the last time she had seriously thought about actually doing it. These days, Lavender and Parvati could not stop talking about it. They read magazines with sex stories, embarrassing sex moments, sex statistics, sex facts, and sex quizzes. They consumed cheap romance novels with the most ridiculous plots and most explicit sex scenes. They reminisced about their own sexual experiments. Hermione swore they once talked about how best to masturbate, but Hermione might have misunderstood that one. She mostly tried to tune them out.

She wondered how they would react to the Dare. _Probably look scandalized, then giggle_, Hermione thought sordidly.

Two days ago, would she think she'd be contemplating the seduction of the most hated professor at Hogwarts? A most emphatic 'no'.

Distantly, she reminded herself she did not even know how to kiss. She was expected to have sex with a Death Eater who probably had more experience than she in such matters. Not only have sex, but lead sex. And what would he want after that? Hermione cringed with horror at the thought of her own professor asking her to do that to him. Even the thought of her professor clothed and wanting to kiss her repulsed her so much, bile rose to the back of her throat.

A person coughed uncomfortably behind her.

Hermione jolted from her reverie and saw Seamus walking in front of her. She could not look directly at him. He seemed to be similarly afflicted.

"Er, I'd just like to say... well, Snape's given me an easy antidote... I, erm, only breathed in the fumes... and... er... my behavior..."

"It's all right, Seamus," Hermione said shiftily. It wasn't really, but she knew she could not blame Seamus for a mistake he had not meant to make.

"Well, erm, I guess... I'll, er, go..."

He left more quickly than if a Blast-Ended Skrewt had stung him in the backside. Hermione returned to her worries.

And dealing with Snape after she had... that would be even worse.

_No_, she told herself sharply. _Worrying about it won't help, and this Arithmancy essay isn't going to write itself._

But she still could not concentrate.

She wished she could use a Love Potion, both on Snape and herself, and make everything so much easier, not to mention mutual.

How could Draco do this to her?

Of course he knew the mental anguish she must be going through. _After all, he must be going through the same thing_, she realized, remembering Draco's Dare with a slight smile on her face. She imagined an unhealthy-looking ferret bouncing up and down in the middle of the Great Hall, trying to kiss an irate Filch. The idea cheered her up. A little.  
  



	3. Paranoia

**Chapter 3: Paranoia**

Potions was hell to get through. Every time she would pass Snape in halls, she would hunch her shoulders more than usual and pretend to be intensely interested in something the other way. She doubted whether Snape even noticed her.

But Draco and Pansy began to whisper in her ear in and between classes, goading her, dropping suggestive hints.

"Snape's peakier than usual today. Why don't you give him his medicine?"

"Is it good for you, too?"

"What have you done for your professor today?"

"It's about time Mudbloods were put to their proper use."

"Oh, come on, you volunteer everything else."

Even Snape was making things unintentionally harder for her. Due to the overall success of the Love Potions, he made the brew them again, then again, to make sure it was branded in their memories. Seamus was watched more closely than Neville, and on the third brewing, not even Crabbe or Goyle could go wrong. On the second brewing, Seamus made his same mistake, but purposefully did not look at anyone and called for Professor Snape's assistance. And, despite Professor Snape's professed Gryffindor hatred, Snape responded immediately. The volatility of the results put even Snape on high alert. This time Seamus had a cloak thrown over his face and was thrown into the office again.

Hermione cowered to the side until class was over, mercifully finished with her own. If Snape ever observed her twitchiness, he did not bother to acknowledge it.

After brewing, he gave them lectures over it, one theory after another, gave them homework, essay after essay. No matter what, she could not escape the idea of making love. She could not forget Snape or what she had to do. Symptoms of ignoring her Dare began to make themselves known; they were subtle, of course. She was not neglecting the Dare yet, but it made some nice little reminders. Once, in the middle of Transfiguration, she made to leave the classroom, feeling dreadfully sick to her stomach, the muscles in her abdomen cramping against the organ, reminding her deeply of a specific case of the flu with which she had wrestled when she was ten years of age.

"Miss Granger, do you need something?" Professor McGonagall remarked sharply.

"May I please be excused, Professor," Hermione said weakly, clutching her stomach. "I'm going to be sick."

"Now, really, Miss Granger!" McGonagall exclaimed, very ruffled, "don't think I haven't seen those Skiving Snackboxes! But I never thought it of you, of all people. I'm extremely disappointed in you. Now, five points from Gryffindor. Sit down, take the other end of the pill, and I'll continue my lesson."

Hermione resumed her seat, now a sickly shade of green tinged with a flush of embarrassment of what was accused of her.

About ten minutes later, Hermione rose her hand in the middle of Professor McGonagall's discussion on sentient to sentient transfiguration.

"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall said coolly.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then vomited her breakfast in a trail down the aisle. McGonagall had to lift her skirts to avoid getting splattered.

"Sorry, Professor," Hermione apologized weakly after a quick _Evanesco_. Then she sat down again, burying her head in her notes, utterly miserable.

McGonagall was surprised and bewildered by Hermione's behavior, but with another glance at Hermione and she finished her lesson.

McGonagall's was not the only disrupted class. Her Charms days were just as difficult. Flitwick was more understanding than Hermione's Head of House and allowed her to leave class at regular times: 3:00 pm on Wednesdays and 10:00 am on Fridays. He did not ask questions, but he could not ignore Hermione's grimaces of pain, faint, but evident to Flitwick's deceptively sharp perception.

Even Hagrid noticed the change. He inquired about Hermione's health almost every Care of Magical Creatures class. Hermione dismissed her symptoms by saying she kept eating something that disagreed with her, but after the thirteenth time to use the excuse, it began to wear thin.

The only class in which her symptoms seemingly had no audience was, predictably, Potions. Part of this was due to the fact that Draco was experiencing similar pangs. His came in the form of headaches rather than nausea, and while Hermione's symptoms were more noticeable--she vomited consistently at the end of Potions into the washbasin, soothing her stomach with the glacial water that spouted from the gargoyle's mouth--but Draco moaned dramatically in conveniently louder whispers how much his head hurt, and oh, he just couldn't concentrate. Harry and Ron shared equally disgusted looks whenever Draco did this, then looked guiltily at Hermione.

It had been a while since she had spent time with them. They had been avoiding her as much as she was avoiding them, but lately, they had initiated a certain desire to reconcile with their old friend.

At the Gryffindor table, a few weeks before Christmas holidays, Hermione remained in her customary seat across from Harry and Ron, blocking them from view as she usually did by standing a large book on end as a visual barrier. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until a head topped with carrot-red hair popped over the book.

"Look, 'Mione, I know you're made at us--heck, _we're_ mad at us--but, well, this won't help anything."

Hermione slouched further in her seat.

"We're sorry we made you come," Ron said desperately. "Don't let this be like third year. We missed you then and we miss you now. Please, 'Mione. We're sorry."

Hermione spared Ron one glance, then barked a mirthless laugh. "You think that spending time with you two again will help me find a way to avoid this?" She was careful not to reveal too much. Parvati's and Lavender's conversation had ceased and they watched the conflict keenly. "I tried to tell you. I told you that you could ignore him and walk away. Your... trials are over, but mine are just going to keep coming and coming, even after the event."

"But, Hermione," Harry said quietly, "do you really want to go through it alone? And what if we _can_ find a loophole?"

"No, Harry, he was quite clear on the point. And if I recall correctly, I was not alone that night. You two have obviously gotten me into enough trouble." Hermione's mouth was set.

"We've been through trouble before. We've fought Death Eaters, for Pete's sake." Ron appropriated the book and put it on his seat and sat on it. "Now we're not going to leave you alone until you give us a _good_ reason."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Then she abruptly stood up, her bushy hair bouncing irritably. 

Harry got up with her and followed her progress to the Great Hall doors on the other side of the table. When they reached the other end, Harry grabbed her arm. Hermione jerked away like he had cursed her.

"Hermione, stop being unreasonable. You once accused me of being unreasonable, but you're worse than I ever was." Harry was slightly chagrined from touching her, but Hermione's stubbornness was difficult to endure, even for him.

"I'll be unreasonable if I bloody well feel like it!" Hermione shouted. "I think I'm entitled to be bloody unreasonable, considering the circumstances." She pushed open the great doors.

"Where are you going?" Harry demanded.

"Where do you think?" Hermione said. "The library. To do Professor Snape's _Love Potion_ essay!"

Then she slammed the door--no small feat for someone her size--almost directly in Harry's face, barely missing his nose.

Hermione stalked down the corridor, fury blinding her view. How dare they accuse her of unreasonableness when they had for years been just as or more unreasonable than she! Beginning from their first year: their first encounter with Fluffy; the flying car; their big quarrel in third year that had resulted the deepest depression she had ever encountered; Divination; then the fight between Harry and Ron and having to split her diplomatic time with them; Ron's prejudices and Harry's short temper; their immaturity; Harry's hormones going hyper in fifth year.... The list went on and on. Years of being the peacemaker and voice of reason... about time to turn the tables.

Hermione stormed on through the halls, glaring at the noisy portraits.

Then again, there were those times where they had surpassed themselves in heroic gestures. These far outnumbered their bad characteristics and made Hermione slow in pleasant remembrance. She recalled all the times Ron sacrificed himself for her sake and all the times Harry set his own personal life aside to save the whole world. She thought of the way their eyes used to light up when she came into a room, the way their faces relaxed when she agreed to correct their homework--this brought a smile to her lips.

_Maybe they do have some usefulness after all_, she thought sheepishly. It would certainly be easier with their support.

She turned to return to the Great Hall in order to apologize to her friends and collided with a large, black-clothed someone. This someone was considerably heavier than she, and as they overbalanced, he fell on top of her. His hands flew to the sides to break the fall, but Hermione toppled backwards, unable to cushion herself on the hard floor, and she cried out as her tailbone, then her head, were bruised against the stone.

She shut her eyes tight to dam the flood of pain-induced tears. The back of her head sent out fluid tendrils of laced fire down her spine and to her eyes. As the person on top of her fell with his full weight, the breath was stolen from her lungs, and she gasped vainly for air, red dots suffusing the cool darkness of her eyelids.

The person's hands and legs fumbled for a firm planting, and his hands accidentally brushed her breasts. The contact did not seem to faze the man, but Hermione's eyes flew open, her lungs expanding with their first breath.

She beheld the unlovely, sallow face of her Potions professor. A stifled scream escaped her mouth.

Snape did not seem to care about her reaction. Rather, he calmly found his footing and stood. Hermione sat up as best she could.

"Why were you following me?" Hermione rasped in horror, crossing her arms over her breasts.

Snape was occupied with putting his attire in proper order and did not see the smart flush on her cheeks.

"Silly girl," Snape sneered derisively, brushing dirt from his sleeve. "I was doing nothing of the kind. Next time, watch where you are going. Five points from Gryffindor for not paying attention."

"_I_ wasn't watching where I was going?" Hermione squawked indignantly, tucking her knees up as far as possible with her bruised tailbone.

"Another five points for talking back," Snape said easily, not even looking at Hermione as he left.  
Hermione stayed in her position for a few minutes, attempting to draw her mind from the memory of Snape's hands grazing her breasts.

Then, gingerly, she stood and went to the hospital wing.  



	4. Chastisement

**Chapter 4: Chastisement**

Professor Vector passed by Hermione's desk, smiling at his favorite and most studious pupil. The tall man slowly seeding as his youth continually stripped from his body loved dedicated students. There were few in his classes who could listen to one of his lectures and absorb precise formulas, then complete the problems and essays the night after assignment. Hermione did just that and more. If he gave her one problem, she would work it three different ways, then triple check her work. Essays were always turned in longer than originally suggested.

So one can imagine Vector's surprise when he received a requirement-length essay from his star pupil.

Professor Vector perused the essay, gave Hermione a more than disappointed look, then continued his harvest.

At the end of class, Vector called Hermione to his desk.

"Is everything all right, Miss Granger?" Vector asked, concerned. "I must admit that I had grown to expect the extraordinary from you, which might be my mistake. Maybe you had too much on your plate last night and had to finish the essay as quickly as possible; maybe you had a family or a friendship crisis; these things happen. I'm just wondering if you need to talk about something."

Hermione felt like laughing and crying. What was she supposed to say? Oh, Professor, I really need your help. I'm bound to shagging Professor Snape. I was trying to ignore the fact while writing the essay. Can you understand that I was a little too stressed to overachieve?

"No, Professor Vector, nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."

~888~

In the middle of Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall stopped by Hermione's desk to observe her progress at changing Ron into Harry.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows incredulously.

Ron's hair was streaked with black, but rather than Harry's thin straight nose, Hermione had succeeded in growing Snape's overlarge nose onto Ron's face. Ron had shrunk to Harry's height, but no matter how hard Hermione focused, the nose refused to shrink.

Professor McGonagall tsked sharply and waved her wand, restoring Ron's own features to their proper proportions.

"Really, Miss Granger, you showed uncharacteristic carelessness in the maneuvering of that wand! I suggest you practice extra-hard tonight on the wand-movement for the charm. I expected better of you!"

~888~

Professor Sprout was getting warmed up in her lesson and decided at that moment to ask, "Can anyone tell me what is so extraordinary about a mature Whomping Willow?"

Everyone, even Neville, not knowing the answer, looked at Hermione, expecting her hand to be waving enthusiastically.

Hermione looked at the floor, her hands firmly behind her back.

~888~

In Professor Flitwick's class, the diminutive Charms teacher dropped a letter sealed by the Headmaster onto Hermione's desk.

It read:

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_On behalf of all your professors, we require your presence in the teachers' lounge on the 24th of November at 9:00 am._

_Professor Albus Dumbledore_

Harry looked over her shoulder at the note, then whispered in her ear, "Perhaps I'm not the right one to tell you this, but... well, maybe you should get it over with."

Hermione drew away in horror.

"I'm serious," Harry said in a normal tone. "You're falling apart. Even Dean's noticed, and he doesn't pay attention to much outside sports or art."

"And you think my problem will go away if I do?" Hermione snapped.

Harry withdrew angrily. "It was just a suggestion. The problem isn't going away by itself, and you're going to need all the help you can get. You don't have to bite my head off!"

Hermione instantly felt a swift pang of guilt. But how could he possibly understand? Sure, he had his own weighty problems, but none of them were the like of her own, and she forced herself to ignore her conscience. She would have to fight this battle without the help of the two best friends, despite the fact they had gotten her into the mess in the first place.

~888~

Hermione stood in front of the staff room door, struck by how menacing pinewood could be and how hard her heart was beating and how the floor needed to be cleaned and how she was going to answer their questions, especially if Snape was there.

She considered ignoring the summons and hiding in one of the dormitory closets. As a great gaping feeling in her stomach increased with the prospect of inquisition, Hermione favored that decision more and more. But as she began to back away, the staff room door opened, and Professor McGonagall silently beckoned her in.

Tremulously, Hermione slipped through the door, avoiding her Professor's eyes.

"Please, sit down, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, breaking the complete silence and gesturing to a comfortable-looking armchair. Hermione obeyed.

"Miss Granger, we aren't going to bite," Professor Dumbledore said gently. "We just want to clear up a few things."

Hermione lent him her eyes and thought she saw a glint of knowledge behind Professor Dumbledore's glasses. But her hopes were dashed when that light disappeared, transforming into one of confused concern.

Professor Dumbledore took a parchment out of his robes and glanced at the information it showed.

"Miss Granger, your teachers are dreadfully concerned. It seems your grades have slipped a whole three points. While such a minute change would be overlooked in any other student, I'm afraid that with something like this from you, someone who has maintained her marks, such decline is indicative of some trouble. Do you find your load a burden? You never have before--in fact, you've sought to augment it--but even someone as intelligent as you reaches her limit. Tell me, my dear, is your decline a result of a work overload?"

Hermione shook her head no.

Professor Dumbledore's brows furrowed, but he continued.

"I have numerous reports here of regular sickness, at approximately 10:00 am, 1:30 pm, 3:00 pm, and 5:00 pm. Have you been to see Madam Pomfrey about this condition?"

Hermione shook her head no.

"Why not?"

Hermione shrugged, guiltily aware of her rudeness.

Professor Dumbledore sighed, rolling up the parchment and putting it to the side.

"Hermione, you have to understand that unless you tell us the problem, we cannot help you."

"There's always Veritaserum," said Snape snidely from the back. Hermione was glad she could not see him.

Dumbledore spared Snape a sharp glance.

"But to be serious," Snape said in a dangerous, silky voice, pushing past some of the professors to the front, "I have not noticed any academic change in Potions, so I see no reason to be here myself."

Professor McGonagall looked at Snape incredulously. "You've haven't noticed any change?"

Snape snorted. "What hasn't? I am merely saying it is only a selective and likely temporary setback." Snape turned to Hermione, making her flinch.

"First, Miss Granger, due to the regularity of your sickness, I feel compelled to ask you whether you are pregnant."

Hermione's eyes widened at the ironic insinuation. The accusation caused many of the professors to cry out indignantly, and Professor McGonagall said, "Now really, Severus!"

Snape held up his hands and the protests quieted.

"I want a direct answer. Well, Miss Granger?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Hermione felt like sinking into the floor. "No," she whispered.

Snape nodded. "Then I have one more question. A few weeks ago," he explained to the other professors, "Mr. Finnegan suffered a mishap with his Love Potion and his chemical-induced affections were directions at the unfortunate Miss Granger. Could your distress be a precipitate of this error?"

Hermione was startled that Snape had even noticed her discomfort of the subject in his classes after that particular day. But she still had to answer, "No."

Snape nodded and bowed to the Headmaster. "No further questions, your honor. Am I free to return to my work?"

With a ghost of a smile on Dumbledore's face, the Headmaster assented, and Snape stroke out of the room, his voluminous robes billowing behind him.

"It's a wonder someone as melodramatic as he doesn't get his robes caught in the door," Dumbledore muttered to himself, shaking his head with clear amusement. His expression grew grave as he returned his attention to Hermione.

"Hermione, you have to understand that our goal is not just to educate students, but to protect them to the best of our ability. But you have to help us. We realize that many believe their case unique and unable to be altered, but you could be throwing away valuable aid by anticipating our impotence."

Hermione moistened her lips, then said, her voice unwavering, "There is nothing you can help me with. I am fine. I'm just a little stressed."

"Are you certain?" Professor Dumbledore said, emphasizing each word.

Hermione nodded, "Yes, Professor."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair as though she had let him down in some say. "You are free to go," he said quietly, removing his glasses and polishing them on his sleeve.

Hermione stood, staring at the emotionless, unfamiliar eyes of her professors. Then she made a swift exit.

The last thing she heard was Professor Flitwick leaning toward Professor Sprout and whispering loudly, "I think it's unanimous that she's not telling us something."

Professor Sprout replied, "If you ask me, it's a boy problem. Severus is usually right about these things."

Hermione shut the door.

~888~

"You know, curling up under a library table is an early sign of insanity," Blaise said, crouching down and setting her book bag beside her.

Hermione turned away, giving Blaise her back.

"Just because I wear green and silver doesn't mean you can't talk to me a little. I have plenty of blue friends, and even one yellow friend. Besides, I came here to make arrangements for my stay with you over holidays. It was your Dare, after all." Blaise's tone grew uncharacteristically bitter.

Hermione did not say anything, but the tension around her shoulders lessened a bit. Blaise threw her book bag under the table and crawled next to Hermione.

"Do you do this routinely?" Blaise asked. "A bit cozy, but certainly a good place for privacy. Though the odd looks people give you have to be a drawback. What am I going to tell my parents?"

"Make up something," Hermione muttered sullenly. "Owls come to my house everyday. It's not like your parents would notice the difference. They can't tell where the owls go."

"Still sulking over your Dare?"

Hermione nodded.

Blaise crossed her legs and faced Hermione, her eyes glinting. "You know, I didn't want to be a part of the Truth or Dare game. It was Draco and Pansy's idea, and I overheard them researching it. It sounded vaguely interesting, and they needed to third person--to account for you--but I normally don't get involved in all that House rivalry. Takes far too much time. If Draco put an eighth of the energy he puts into plotting against Potter into some real ambition, he'd be famous before he left Hogwarts. Anyway, they... 'persuaded' me to join them. And believe me, I've paid Pansy back, but I think Draco's Dare is punishment enough for anybody. So I'm just waiting now. It's bothering him as much as it's bothering you."

"I didn't want to be a part of it, either," said Hermione. "I just wanted to support Harry and Ron. I knew it'd get us into trouble, but it turns out I received the worst repercussions for their stupidity."

Blaise chuckled grimly. "I don't disagree. But--I'm sure it won't help or make you feel better -- Snape... he's really okay. It's just with you Gryffindors; it doesn't work with the old rivalry. And he really has been looking a bit peaky, even for him."

"Shut up!" screamed Hermione suddenly, flinging out an arm and hitting Blaise in the face. She calmed down immediately after but more than a spark of fury flitted in her eyes. "You just don't get it, do you? I have to seduce this man. Not just let him have his way with me while I just lie there under him, which would be more than horrible itself. I have to do everything myself and make him want me. And why the hell would he want me in the first place?"

Blaise was silent for a moment, then said, "All very good questions, but none of them apply to my original purpose for being here."

Hermione gave an impatient sigh and snapped. "Just... I don't care how you do it, just be in a compartment on the train next week. I'll owl Mum and Dad that you're coming. I'll say you're having severe relationship problems at home and at school or something, and they'll lap it up and baby you when you come. Now deal with your own problems and leave me to mine!"

She crawled out and began stalking away when Blaise called after her, "You know, the last thing you need right now is another Slytherin enemy!"

Hermione decided to ignore the comment and continued to stalk all the way to Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Ron were waiting for her at the Fat Lady.

Ron looked at Harry for a cue, then began.

"We've discussed it, Hermione, and we've decided that even if you treat us like dirt, we're going to try and help you and support you through this."

"Crestomanci," Hermione murmured to the Fat Lady, then climbed through the portrait hole.

" 'Cause we got you into this," Harry continued, "and you've bailed us out of so many adventures."

"The troll," said Ron.

"Grawp," chimed Harry.

"The Devil's Snare."

"The Summoning Charm."

"Dumbledore's Army."

"Loads of stuff I couldn't begin to say, and we're bugging you until you give us some sort of answer."

Hermione spun around, opened her mouth, and screamed, her eyes screwed shut. Everyone in the common room dropped what they were doing and stared at her. None of them had ever seen Hermione so out of control, so crazy....

Then her screams became gentler, with larger pauses between them. Her hands buried themselves into her hair, literally pulling at the roots, then covering her ears as though to ward off some high-pitched sound--perhaps herself.

Professor McGonagall rushed in, her hair more untidy than usual.

"Good heavens, who's being murdered?" she cried. Then she saw Hermione, and her lips pursed disapprovingly. "Miss Granger, please, I must ask you to cease that unseemly noise."

"Professor," said a rather frazzled Ron, "I think she may be having a nervous breakdown?"

"Oh, nonsense, Ravenclaw has them all the time. Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall yelled, slapping Hermione smartly across the face. Hermione's screams dissolved into tears, and she fell to the floor, weeping, barely drawing in breath.

Professor McGonagall clucked, then deputized Harry into taking her to the infirmary.

"No!" Hermione wailed. "Don't take me to him! He'll eat me! He'll eat me!"

"Honestly," Lavender whispered to Parvati, "she's beginning to sound like Loony Lovegood."

~888~

Hermione opened her eyes, staring at the admonishing face of Madam Pomfrey.

"Really, Miss Granger," she said primly as she sat Hermione up and fluffed her pillows, "with stress levels that high, I'm surprised you didn't work yourself into a catatonic state. Here, drink this." Madam Pomfrey thrust a vial into Hermione's hands. "It'll help you relax a little more. Now, I want you to stay here for another night, and tomorrow I'll allow visitors, but you really need rest. Here." She thrust a piece of parchment into Hermione's hand. "Whenever you find yourself even the littlest bit anxious or stressed or upset, practice these relaxation techniques. I don't want you constantly taking potions; it can become addictive. Now, bedrest," Madam Pomfrey concluded, tucking Hermione further into the sheets and quilts.

Professor McGonagall walked in.

"Not now, Minerva, wait until tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey said, putting a hand on Professor McGonagall's shoulder.

"It'll be quick, Poppy," Professor McGonagall replied. She looked at Hermione and said gently, "I might have been more sympathetic if you had told us your problem. Until them, I will be little inclined to sympathize. Good day, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked out a window and said nothing, but another tear trickled down her cheek. 


	5. Failure

**Chapter 5: Failure**

Harry and Ron sneaked in tentatively, and Ron hissed, "Hermione!"

Hermione opened her eyes to see her best friends, looking rather frightened, holding armfuls of get-well presents.

"We... erm... just wanted to know if you ever wanted to see us again," Harry said warily.

Hermione took one wavering breath and burst into tears again.

"Okay," said Ron, dropping his load onto a side table and turning to make a getaway. "I guess that a 'no, Ron, I never want to see you again,' so I'll just..."

"No, wait!" Hermione wailed. She threw off her covers, and--without bothering to put on a dressing gown or slippers to ward off a chill--she ran to the boys and threw her arms around their necks. "Don't go anywhere! Please. Don't ever, ever, ever leave me! I can't... I just can't..." Her breathing increased rapidly to something approaching hyperventilation.

"Messrs. Potter and Weasley!" screeched Madam Pomfrey, cracking to a high C in frustration. "I will not have my patient driven to hysterics again. Out!"

"No, Madam, don't make them go, please!" begged Hermione. "I'll calm down. I'll practice my relaxation techniques when they have to go."

Madam Pomfrey harrumphed. She peered disapprovingly at the two boys, then left, shaking her head and muttering.

Hermione got back into her bed and under the covers, obedient to her nurse's orders. Ron and Harry sat in chairs next to her bed and dumped the rest of her presents on her lap.

"So what does everyone think about Hermione going all crazy?" Hermione asked sheepishly, breaking the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Oh, you know," Ron said, shrugging, "they're just surprised it didn't happen earlier."

Hermione chucked a Chocolate Frog at Ron's head.

"Actually, I'm serious, 'Mione. Everybody marvels at the way you can deal with so much at once, they all just expected you to crack."

"And if you ask me, it's about time," Harry said softly. Hermione looked at him. "I'm glad you finally did something about all the stress. It's not good to hold it all in and let it just... go rotten. I know this brings up a sensitive subject, but Snape's held a grudge all his life, and it hasn't done him any good at all."

"Harry, you're tactless," Hermione sighed.

Ron glared at Harry, then said quickly, "Have some fudge, 'Mione."

Hermione did and found it quite to her liking.

"So Blaise's going to your house for Christmas holidays?" Ron mumbled through his mouth of the Chocolate Frog Hermione had thrown at him.

Hermione sighed again, but smiled inwardly. They never changed. The Dares were just another adventure for them. She laughed gently; she could see the tabloid headline now: INNOCENT GAMES GO BAD--STUDENT TO SECRETLY BED PROFESSOR.

"Yeah," Hermione assented, "but I'm not especially worried. She seems fairly decent, and she was mostly there to balance me. Besides, it's not like she can do any magic. It'll be a learning experience for her."

Ron and Harry suddenly sniggered.

"What?!"

"Only you, 'Mione," Ron chuckled. "Only you would make a Dare into study hall."

~888~

The next day she was permitted to go to her afternoon Potions class. They were still doing Love Potions, but the end was in sight. It was their last day in Potions 'til the holidays.

"So when do you plan on... you know?" Ron whispered during a lull in the lecture.

Hermione inhaled sharply. She knew the boys meant well, but they would never realize just how close to her heart Malfoy had thrust his javelin.

"Not until after holiday," she whispered, pretending to get another quill. "That'll give me some serious time to think about it."

"Shhh!" Harry hissed as Snape stepped into their row. Fortunately, Snape swept past them without saying a word.

"Phew," breathed Hermione. "I don't fancy a detention with him. Not under the circumstances."

Harry and Ron shared a meaningful look. "You know," said Harry slowly, "that might be a good idea. It'd be a legitimate reason for you to be alone with him."

"No," said Hermione forcefully.

"But 'Mione, it makes perfect sense...." Ron insisted.

No, Ron," Hermione repeated. "A detention goes on your record. I know I haven't cared before, but I had much better reasons to not care. There _are_ other options, and I'll take them."

"But 'Mione, a student with a teacher goes onto the record, too."

Harry elbowed Ron in the ribs.

"Ow!"

"Class dismissed," Snape said, speaking over the cry of pain, "if Mr. Potter is finished abusing Mr. Weasley."

Both boys busied themselves with packing up their books.

Hermione did the same, sticking her notes into her Potions tube. She slung her pack over her shoulder and winced as she passed Malfoy and Pansy.

"Hear you went psycho, Mudblood. Couldn't stand another day without your Professor?" Malfoy taunted.

Pansy joined in. "I think we finally know why you're the only Gryffindor who makes full marks in here."

"Just ignore them," Harry whispered in the familiar mantra that Hermione had once chanted for Harry. "Just ignore them."

"I know," Hermione murmured.

"Instead of thinking about Hermione's Dare, Malfoy, maybe you should concentrate on yours," Ron shot back at Draco.

Draco's smile disappeared faster than if it had Disapparated.

Hermione was grinning as they left the Potions classroom.

"I never really thought about the fact that Draco has to humiliate himself in front of everyone," Hermione said happily. "It's even better than the ferret trick."

Harry and Ron grinned.

Hermione's smile faded quickly as a thought occurred to her.

"You guys go on ahead. I'll meet you later," Hermione said unexpectedly. Harry and Ron were suspicious, but continued their walk to the common room. When they were out of sight, Hermione double back to the deserted Potions classroom.

She peered in. Maybe not so deserted. Professor Snape was sitting on his desk, his legs crossed at the ankles again, looking somewhere at the left corner. He looked even more exhausted than Hermione had ever seen him. It was a part of him he never showed to any of his students--which must have been exhausting in itself. Then again, she could understand a little. He was a Death Eater gone spy who had to don a double façade, both supporting the Headmaster while subtly undermining him--except only pretending to undermine him. Not to mention the duty of a teacher, which was a feat on its own to teach years one through seven; especially the first years, though she was sure--with a touch of amusement--that she, Harry, and Ron seemed just as bad, if not worse.  
He obviously did not have another class, or else he would not have let his guard down so quickly.

So he was alone....

Should she try now? There was always the risk of getting caught, but she might not get such a perfect chance.

Snape stood, and Hermione stiffened. But he was just getting up to sit behind his desk.

Hermione relaxed, but moved away from the door, pressing her back to the stone wall.

And even if now was a good time, how would she execute it? Would she just walk straight to him, kiss him hard and straddle him in his chair? Or would she just hex his and her clothes off before she walk in and force him into her before he realized what was happening? Or better yet, hex his and her clothes off, turn herself invisible and pique his interest that way?

No, no, no, she thought. Seduction was the game, not magic. He had to want her, lust for her, and she had to make him feel that way.

Hermione felt strongly as though she was going to throw up. After she consummated this Dare, she was going to murder Malfoy.

Taking a deep breath, she took part of her Potions notes out of her pack and Banished them surreptitiously to her seat. Then she knocked.

"Enter," Snape's familiar, cold voice called.

Hermione pushed open the door and said weakly, "I left my notes."

Snape had been looking at his desk where several essays were being graded. He acknowledged her only by lifting his head, then lowering it again, not condescending to speak to her.

She went to her seat, bent over, and grabbed her Banished notes. She took out her wand and hid it in her sleeve. She stood.

"Professor?"

Snape lifted his head again and arched a baleful eyebrow.

"Erm..." A thousand possibilities went through her head at the moment: _With all the lecturing on Love Potions, do you ever find yourself interested in a practical test?... Want to see just how much research went into my Love Potion?... How about a student who gives back?..._

"Never mind."

Snape set his correcting quill down sharply. "Then you shouldn't have said anything at all."

"Sorry, sir," Hermione apologized, mentally kicking herself.

"I thought you were trouble enough at the beginning of the year, and--despite your academic record--you have surpassed my expectations. Now go burden some other unfortunate with your presence."

Hermione backed apprehensively out of the room. No, not a good time, not with Snape acting like a caged leopard. Not to mention the fact she was hyperventilating. She had to close her eyes and count to two hundred eight two before she was composed enough to leave for her next class.  



	6. Initiation

**Chapter 6: Initiation**

"Have a happy Christmas!" shouted Harry and Ron on the train platform. They had come to see her off, but Hermione partially wanted them to be there so they could help her keep Blaise on the train. When Hermione had met her on the platform, Blaise was fidgeting like a five-year-old. Hermione had to Levitate both their trunks to their proper place in the luggage compartment. She lifted Crookshanks' basket and touched Blaise's shoulder. Blaise started.

"Time to go," Hermione said. Blaise glared at her.

"I can't believe you're making me do this," she muttered.

"Look," Hermione snapped, pushing Blaise back, "I no more wanted to be a part of the game than you did. Unfortunately, we both have to pay, don't we?"

Hermione may have been too optimistic, but Blaise's eyes appeared to soften.

"Fine," Blaise snapped, shoving past her, "but that doesn't mean I have to sit with you."

"You're going to be seen with me anyway, if you're coming home with me," Hermione reasoned. "I'm not going to talk to you or anything. I have reading I need to do."

"So do I," said Blaise, her voice continually more mellow. "I'll find a compartment."

Ron interrupted, "You can always say you were assigned as partners in an independent Potions project. No one would be able to dispute that, and your House would sympathize instead of humiliate you."

Hermione and Blaise whirled around and looked at Ron in surprise. Even Harry's mouth was open.

"What?" Ron asked, uncomfortable with everyone looking at him.

"That's a good idea, Weasley," explained Blaise, her eyes wide with unexpected awe.

Ron rolled his eyes. "The train's about to leave," he said, slighted.

Blaise threw up her hands in frustration as she realized the Dare could not be avoided. She stalked away, presumably to locate said compartment.

"Bye, you two," Hermione said. She laughed. "I made this big show of needing you, then I run off back home. I... I just wanted you to know that... I'm very sorry for how I've acted, and I really do love both of you, and... I should go," she concluded meekly; Tears were beginning to well up again. "Madam Pomfrey warned me not to get too excited or upset... so I'd better go."

"If she gives you any trouble, send us an owl and we'll send her a curse," Ron promised.

Hermione giggled through her tears. "Goodbye," she whispered.

"Bye," Harry and Ron replied. "Happy Christmas."

And Hermione boarded the train.

~888~

The train ride was silent and thick like wool. It was both refreshing--in comparison with the constant chatter in both the prefects' compartment and in the compartment Hermione usually shared with Harry and Ron and their other Gryffindor friends--and unsettling. Blaise purposely aided the tension by completely ignoring Hermione's presence. Hermione chose not to press the issue, though she dearly hoped the ice in Blaise's countenance would crack during the holiday.

She had informed her parents of Blaise's arrival, and she gave a vague explanation as to the reason. She also included a lengthy postscript including what she knew to be Blaise's opinion of Muggles. They had sent her an owl back, expressing confusion and slight disconcertion, but they agreed to give Blaise the guest room next to Hermione's.

Her parents' disquiet was shared tenfold by Hermione, assuaged only by the fact Blaise seemed to be the most sensible Slytherin she knew and the knowledge she couldn't use magic over the holidays.

It was only when the train began to slow down that Blaise showed any sign of acknowledgment. 

When the train finally screeched to a halt, Blaise said in indifference marred only by a slight quiver, "Can you tell your parents I'll be there after I'm sure all the Slytherins are gone?"

Hermione considered the request. "No," she answered. "Use Ron's idea." Then she left Blaise in the compartment.

"Well, Crookshanks, we're home," she whispered. "You get to be petted and pampered, and you'll get so spoiled, I'll have to wean you off pure cream again."

"Wait, Hermione!" Blaise called behind her. The Slytherin came running up to Hermione. "Is that why you got sick during all those classes? You were resisting the Dare?"

Hermione grinned. "So that's what you were planning to do. Yes, though. It stopped after I... well... I'm thinking about how to do my Dare, and I think it knows it."

"Is that why you pitched a fit?" Blaise asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Draco's having problems, too. He stopped having sex with Pansy. Says he wants to, but he can't focus."

"Serves him right," Hermione said vehemently.

"I agree. It _was_ his idea in the first place. I actually admire Potter for giving him that Dare. Then again, Draco's Dare for you hit pretty close, too. For a Dare, it was perfect."

Hermione reddened in anger, but managed to calm down in exactly thirty two breaths. She knew Blaise was a fairly indifferent person in character. Hermione was actually surprised she had seen Blaise vulnerable when it came to spending time with Muggles.

"In fact, an objective observer might find Draco's Dare worse than yours. You get to remain within the boundaries of nature. Draco has to do something far more taboo...."

"But I'm not an objective observer, Blaise," interrupted Hermione. "Now would you keep it down. There are still people here and we're almost to the barrier."

Together they earned some questioning stares, but for the best part they ignored them. Blaise was a little disdainful as she passed through the barrier and beheld the Muggle artifacts and families around her.

"Mum, Dad," Hermione said warily to a rather trim couple standing to the side, "this is Blaise Zabini."

"Why, hello, Miss Zabini," said Mr. Granger courteously. He extended his hand.

Blaise took it and shook it firmly. When she withdrew, she looked at her palm, as if expecting it to be covered in some sort of slime. She glanced around nervously.

Mrs. Granger immediately noticed Blaise's discomfort and diplomatically led them all to their van. It took a bit of work to lift the trunks into the back of the van--Hermione could tell Blaise was itching to use magic in this sudden transition--but they lived through it. In the end, Blaise and Hermione were sitting in the middle section, as unsettlingly silent as they had been on the train.

"So tell me, Blaise," Mrs. Granger said in way of conversation, "what House are you in?"

"Slytherin," answered Blaise sullenly.

"What is it known for?"

"Ambition."

Which pretty much killed conversation.

But then Blaise asked, "Do Muggles always travel this slowly?"

Mrs. Granger grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid so. We're aware wizards have quicker methods of transportation, but we're a bit stuck in the restraints of natural resources. We're sorry about the inconvenience. Then again, because your transportation doesn't allow for much actual travel, I'll bet you've never seen what's in-between. Try and take to time to look around. You might get a better idea about what Muggles are about."

So instead of looking at the chair in front of her, she looked out the window. Hermione hid a smile as Blaise became engrossed in all the public nuances of Muggle life. She laughed aloud when she saw such oddities as the cell phone, stop lights, gray smoke coming out of chimneys, and crutches. Then Mr. and Mrs. Granger would laugh when she would ask what they were and why they used it.

When they arrived at Hermione's home, Blaise got out of the van and looked at it for a long time. It was a modest two-story with an attic, Tudor with white trim like the rest of the houses on the street. The only thing that distinguished their house from the others were the colors of the drapes. On the first floor, a pale avocado green; second floor, a subtle blue. The sun was already mostly below the horizon, and the street light glow threw sharp shadow on the angles of the house.

Blaise nodded silently and went to the back of the van to help Mr. Granger with her trunk.

"So what's the verdict?" Hermione asked curiously.

Blaise rolled her eyes and said, "It looks like someone's home. In fact, it looks like yours. What were you expecting?"

Hermione shrugged but smiled just the same.

"I hope you don't mind we're just having leftover stew, but it's a nice thick one, and it ought to do you good after such a long trip. Here, let me show you to your room. But first..." she fumbled through her purse until she grabbed something. "Aha!"

She held up a set of keys.

"They always seem to get lost in here."

"Maybe they're Muggle-baited," Blaise suggested.

Hermione laughed. "I doubt it. If you've seen the inside of Mum's purse, you'd understand why she keeps losing them."

Mrs. Granger let them in and turned on all the lights, then led the girls upstairs.

"This is Hermione's room... you share a bathroom... and here's yours, Blaise."

It was a rather neat room, most definitely a guest room. The comforter of the high bed was a colorful red and green plaid with a background of soft yellow. The bed faced intricate light-colored wooden cabinetry that opened for a television and VCR.

"The closet's over there, and we thought you'd like the TV. You won't get a good idea about Muggle reality, but you'll at least see pop culture."

Blaise nodded politely, but she eyed the entertainment system warily.

"Well, I'll leave you girls to unpack," said Mrs. Granger brightly, and she left.

"Talk to me, Hermione," muttered Blaise quickly, "and you'll get a fist in the mouth."

Hermione escaped while she could.

Dinner was a tense affair. Blaise said the food was great, and she answered all of Mr. and Mrs. Granger's courteous questions. She cheered up a bit after the coffee ice cream, but then she asked if she could go to bed, she was tired. Of course the Grangers excused her. When she left, Mrs. Granger turned to Hermione.

"Blaise seems like a very nice girl, but it also seems like she's straining to be so. Are you sure this was a good idea, dear?"

Hermione shook her head no. "But she had no choice, Mum, she agreed to do it. She swore."

"I just hope you know what you're getting into," Mr. Granger warned.

"Hermione!" Blaise called from upstairs.

Hermione rushed up. Blaise was wrapped in a bath towel and nothing else.

"How does your shower work?" Blaise asked helplessly.

Hermione's face twisted in confusion. "How does _yours_ work?"

"I walk in, and it turns on by itself. I have my hair and body potions, but the water won't turn on."

Hermione explained patiently, "It starts just as if you were taking a bath. You push in this knob here, and the water comes out of the shower spout. You control the heat here."

Blaise looked extremely embarrassed. "Thank you."

"And don't worry," Hermione assured her. "Even after spending time in Hogwarts, the first time I was at a wizard's house, I didn't know how things worked either. You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it," Blaise snapped, and again, Hermione decided to drop the subject.

Later that night, Hermione could not sleep because the television next door was blaring too loudly. With a weary sigh, Hermione slid her feet into her slippers, wrapped herself in her quilt, and padded over to Blaise's room.

She knocked on Blaise's door.

"Come in," Blaise said. Hermione opened the door and walked to the bed. Blaise was lying on her stomach facing the television.

"Is this how they view us?" Blaise inquired, gesturing to the TV movie playing in front of her. Hermione watched a bit before she realized it was _The Witches_.

"No," said Hermione, "believe me, that's only one guess on what magical people are. Flip around a bit more, and you'll see benign, nasty, beautiful, ugly, downright good, or downright evil witches.... and that's not even including the clothing and time periods. Muggles don't know what we are, but it's sure fun to see what they come up with."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed softly. Then she said, "Look, I'm sorry I've been such a bitch; I know my Dare isn't half as bad as the others, and I'm sure you could have done worse. Your parents remind me of something between Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall... not in bad way."

Hermione smiled. "Well, don't get my mother started on dental hygiene, or you'll see a female Snape. Both my parents are dentist, but Mum's really... er... passionate about it. So when she asks you whether you've brushed your teeth, you say either 'yes' or 'no, but I'm going to right now.' "

Blaise laughed.

"You know," said Hermione, "you're not like the other Slytherins."

"Oh, there are plenty of Slytherins like me. It's just your luck you were tangled with the Gryffindor mascot and got the attention of Malfoy. I mean, we're still snakes, but we _are_ decent enough, I think." She was silent for a little while. Then, "You want to watch with me?" she offered.

Hermione pointed to the luminous numerals on the alarm clock. "It's nearly two in the morning."

"And you need to get up in the morning? It's holiday, for Io's sake."

Hermione shrugged sheepishly. "All right."

Blaise was still a bit cautious with her in conversation, but she seemed determined to pretend it was not a Dare that had brought her there. And that was fine with Hermione.

After all, it was a start.  



	7. Horizon Alley

I seem to have gender confusion, don't I? Sorry, didn't realize Professor Vector was a witch. My mistake. And no one knows whether Blaise is a girl or boy because she's one of the most used characters that has only been mentioned once in the entire series. Apparently, it's the name for a girl or a guy. I wanted her to be a girl. That's pretty much it.

OK, here's where it starts REALLY getting interesting.

**Chapter 7: Horizon Alley**

However, Blaise was just as reticent as she had been on the train after that night. She talked to Hermione's parents when they asked questions, but when they offered to take her to their office or to one of the closer shopping centers or to the cinema, Blaise rejected each proposal and went instead to her room and switched on the television. Mr. and Mrs. Granger both agreed she was more polite and agreeable than they had expected, but she still appeared pale and listless, hardly healthy.

But as she would be civil to Hermione's parents, after that first night, she would not even look at Hermione, much less talk or listen.

Finally, Mrs. Granger had to coax Blaise into the living room.

"We know you don't exactly enjoy living in an unfamiliar and probably dull environment," Mrs. Granger said. "So Mr. Granger and I have discussed it, and we've decided that we can go Christmas shopping sometime while you and Hermione can go to Diagon Alley. It may not be much, but besides that and Platform 9 3/4, we have no means to go anywhere else magical."

Blaise smiled slightly. "But that would not be in accord with the 'agreement' we made, would it, Hermione?" Then she turned and ran upstairs again.

Mrs. Granger huffed. "This cannot continue! Hermione, go talk to her."

"But, Mum..."

"Go! You got her into this; I deem it your responsibility."

"But you don't understand the circumstances..."

"I said go!"

_You don't understand that by the end of the year, your little girl isn't going to be a virgin anymore_, Hermione thought, the unwelcome idea reminding her of her task. She was surprised that she had not had any more symptoms of her own Dare with her recent obvious denial. She suddenly felt very much like crying, which started her hyperventilating again.

She hurried to her own room and started counting her breaths. She was still counting after one thousand four hundred and three, tears pouring down her face, when Blaise stuck her head out the doorway of the bathroom they shared.

"Hermione--"

"Shut up!" Hermione snapped. "Do you know what I wanted to make you do for the Dare? I wanted you to sign up for Muggle Studies and flirt with the Professor. That was my first idea. Then I thought maybe you should play five games of strip poker with five other Slytherins in the trophy room. Then my mind drifted to making you recite the most embarrassing things about yourself from the top of the Astronomy Tower so everyone could hear you. Then I thought, no, all of those are too cruel. Let's make things feasible."

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes, blew her nose, and glared at Blaise. "So I did. Now the Dare was positively mild; you had a credible excuse that Ron made up, my parents are not ogres, and they're offering you a chance to spend at least a little time in wizard company. I didn't bring you here to torture you. I brought you here to see what it's really like. And this is how you show your gratitude?" Hermione turned away and curled up into a ball on her bed.

"And--for Io's sake--I have to sleep with a _teacher_. I tried to get his attention two weeks ago. _I actually tried to capture my professor's sexual attention!_ But I couldn't; I couldn't bring myself to do it, and I have to do it by the end of the year, and I have no clue where to even start, and..."

"I can help you," offered Blaise in a low voice.

"Oh, please, like you've had to seduce your professor before. Tell me, does he prefer to lecture during sex, or would he rather I lecture him? Does it turn him on?" During this, Blaise went back to her room, then returned with a pile of magazines. She dropped the magazines onto Hermione's bed.

All of them had the same title: _Enchantress_; they all more or less had half-dressed women or almost naked men on the front. They had articles like: _How to Snag and Shag Your Boss_; _Sleeping Your Way to the Top_; _Top Ten Sex Hexes_; _Enchantments that Enchant Him_.

Hermione looked up, divided between laughter and indignance. "Where did you get these?"

"Erotica Alley, in one of the tamer shops," Blaise said with a mischievous grin. "It's right up Knockturn Alley, and it's a branch off Horizon Alley. And Horizon Alley just happens to be a place that might help prepare you for the... consummation of your Dare."

Hermione's lip curled in disgust. "I'm not going anywhere named Erotica Alley."

"Don't worry," Blaise assured her, "you're not. I'm talking Horizon Alley. It's a bit trendier, less for whores, more for mistresses, which isn't the same thing. And you won't be the only teenage girl there."

"I'm not allowed to use potions or charms to help me," Hermione said less forcefully.

"He meant--believe me--to get him to have sex with you. You don't even have to seduce him with them, just make yourself more desirable. You might even turn other heads besides his. There is more than one way to snare a man. Your parents won't be there. There are men there who will be more than willing to give their opinion, and I'll be there to help...."

"Why?" Hermione challenged.

"Because the faster you get your Dare over with, the more pressure will be on Draco to perform," Blaise replied simply.

Hermione sighed and looked at another article title--_Illicit Loves_.

"Fine," she muttered, and she held back more tears until Blaise had left to tell Mr. and Mrs. Granger that their idea had been wonderful.

~888~

"We'll meet back here at five?" Mrs. Granger asked.

Hermione nodded in confirmation.

"Well, then, have a good time, Hermione, Blaise." Blaise acknowledged her with a small smile on her face.

When Hermione's parents had turned a corner, Blaise dragged Hermione through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley before Hermione even had time to react. 

"Wait," cried Hermione, "I'm not ready yet, and I need to buy my friends and family presents."

Blaise rolled her eyes. "You're never going to be ready. Do know for sure what you're going to get them?"

"I don't know about my friends, but I always get each of my parents an economy-sized box of Tooth-Flossing Stringmints. Ever since the first sample I got them, they've told me that's the only gift they want from me."

Blaise grinned and said, "A touching dentist story, but I'm taking you there anyway; you can go gift-shopping later."

"I'm not putting Snape before my friends and family," Hermione snapped harshly.

"You're right. _I_ am."

And Blaise took hold of Hermione's wrist tightly and pulled her into Knockturn Alley and straight to a dark arts menagerie that looked like you were not likely to leave with all pints of your blood in your veins.

"Ah, Miss Zabini, I remember you," said a rather respectable-looking manager from behind her counter. "Who did you bring to corrupt this time?"

Blaise shrugged indifferently. "Found her in the streets and thought she needed a little help, if you know what I mean. Can you let us through?"

The manager was still chuckling when she asked, "Is she above sixteen?"

Blaise nodded. Then manager bowed and opened the door behind her. Blaise then led Hermione through.

The Alley was canopied, and a pulsing red light that seemed to make its own seductive scent throbbed through the air and seemed to stroke Hermione in waves. She had to close her eyes at the ebb and flow of pleasure that swept through her with each throb.

"Just try not to think about it, and you won't notice it as much," Blaise advised. "Focus on something else. When my sisters first brought me here, I felt the same way. Don't look at anyone selling anything either. Watch my shoes and follow me."

Hermione obeyed, having little choice while concentrating on not melting and letting the sensuality overcome her. A few male hands reached out and caressed her; and she nearly screamed at the pleasure of contact in the midst of everything else.

But then Hermione heard the tinkling of bells on a door handle, and she stepped into a room with normal lighting and no pulsing pleasure. She sighed in relief. She looked up and had to stifle a scream again, this time from shock.

The room was small, but there were rows of large, soft, plush couches and on each draped a naked man or woman, some who were very busy with a customer.

"Don't get your hopes up," said Blaise, looking as though she was having the time of her life watching Hermione's discomfort. "They're enticing, but they cost a small fortune."

"Not for a kiss," a man said from a sofa behind Blaise. "A kiss is free."

"Well, in that case..." Blaise sat on the couch next to the man and pressed her lips against his forcefully, much more insistently that Hermione would have expected from someone so mellow. 

Hermione stared at her feet until Blaise had stood up.

"You want a taste, Hermione?" Blaise offered, gesturing toward the man. "He's really quite good."

"No, thank you," Hermione mumbled. She did not take her eyes off her feet, but continued to follow Blaise to the back. She squealed as she felt a hand pinch her bottom. Some people laughed as Hermione turned and glared at the man who Blaise had kissed. He smiled cheekily at her.

"They particularly love their modest virgins," said Blaise, still highly amused.

Hermione said, "And you're not? A virgin, I mean."

Blaise shook her head no. "For my sixteenth birthday, my sisters pooled their money and brought me here, to Erotica Alley, but it was at another, more private pleasure house than this."

"Oh," Hermione replied weakly.

Blaise was feeling along the back wall. "Now where is it?... There."

She pushed at a seemingly random spot on the perfectly white wall, and a tunnel appeared through which they had to crawl on their knees.

And they entered into a rather normal-looking Alley, whose normalcy was marred only by the merchandise hanging in the windows. Blaise seemed in seventh heaven as she ran to a lingerie shop with some of the skimpiest negligees Hermione had ever seen draped over seductively moving mannequins.

"I am going to love dressing you up in all these," she gushed like a school girl. "My sisters all got to choose their younger sister's clothing for her first time, and Mum dressed my oldest sister, but I didn't get anyone. But with you I get to keep the tradition. Now," she said, adopting a stricter tone, "go to the dressing rooms , and I'll bring you your clothes."

"Blaise, you are not seeing me half-naked!" Hermione cried, turning red.

"Of course I'm not," Blaise dismissed. "You'll have a mirror commentary. Oh, and boys..." She beckoned to the side where three bare-chested men snapped to attention and obeyed her summons, for all the world as they had done this hundreds of times before--as they probably had.

"I can't do this," Hermione muttered under her breath. She felt like throwing a tantrum again, and she closed her eyes and counted breaths to thirty eight before she was composed enough to go to the back of the shop and hide in one of the dressing room stalls.

She hastily and guiltily undressed.

"First time, dearie?" asked a comforting, matronly voice from the mirror.

Hermione jumped and crossed her legs and folded her arms over her breasts.

"Oh, there's no reason to hide yourself. I'm just a mirror, and you're actually quite pretty. Very healthy. I hope he'll be good to you."

"So do I," Hermione whispered.

~888~

Blaise tossed her article after article of what could hardly be called clothing. She would show them to the mirror, and if the mirror did not like it, she'd throw it into an ever-growing pile of rejects. If the mirror voiced its approval, Hermione would have to hold her breath and leave the stall for an appraisal from the men. They would reveal their opinion by how far they stood from her. When they finally found some that suited her perfectly, they each embraced her. Before Hermione made her dubious purchases, the mirror wished her good luck. Hermione appreciated the gesture. She was nearly a nervous wreck again. If she was falling apart in front of people she'd never see again, how would she feel with someone with whom she would remain in contact?

Next, Blaise bustled her over to a cosmetician, who took one look at her, marveled graciously over Hermione's remarkably clear complexion, then retrieved bottle after bottle of potions she was to use to nourish and soften and bronze her skin. Then the woman--thin as a rail with bright red, obviously dyed curly hair--ran a hand through Hermione's unmanageable locks and tsked sharply.   
"What do you use in it?" the cosmetician asked incredulously. "Hair like this doesn't just happen." When Hermione told her, the cosmetician tsked again and snagged even more bottles of hair care potions.

The cosmetician inquired, "Are you much of a potions brewer?"

Hermione answered in the affirmative.

The cosmetician glanced to the left, to the right, then whispered in Hermione's ear, "We're about to discontinued this particular potion, but I still find it perfect for your kind of hair. Here's the recipe." She slipped a piece of parchment into Hermione's hand. "One brewing gives you half a year's worth of potion."

"Thanks," Hermione said. She raised an eyebrow at Blaise, who just grinned contentedly.

Blaise paid for these. "A Christmas present," was the only explanation she would give. "Now we can go back to Diagon Alley."

"That means we have to go through Erotica Alley," Hermione said resignedly.

"We can hurry this time," Blaise offered unhelpfully.

Hermione shuddered, but once again took her place behind Blaise. It took all of her willpower to repress her desires in the crimson Alley, but counting helped. She owed a lot to Madam Pomfrey.  
She felt ten times more at ease in Diagon Alley. She and Blaise split and shopped on their own. 

Hermione of course bought the Toothflossing String Mints for her parents. For Harry, she purchased a more in-tune Sneakoscope--though by no means Auror-ranked. For Ron, she bought a Broom-Servicing Kit and some strawberry-flavored fudge that she knew he loved.

For some reason, she felt compelled to buy Blaise something. She was at a loss until she came across a set of earplugs that magically turned invisible when you put them in your ears. _For those times when Draco and Pansy get too loud_, she put on the card with a sincere smile.

She hid her more illicit purchases underneath her gifts to avoid questioning.

So when Blaise and Hermione met up with Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Hermione was able to plaster a smile on her face and act as though she wasn't going to sneak behind every authority figure's back to seduce the more hated professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  



	8. Christmas

Remember, exercise in sexuality. That's PG-13 really.

****

**Chapter 8: Christmas**

Holidays passed uneventfully. Blaise began coming downstairs more often and even shared a joke with Mr. and Mrs. Granger at the magical community's expense after Mr. Granger read an article in the _Daily Prophet_.

But come Christmas, Blaise seemed to really show interest in Muggle traditions that were so like the ones she recognized, plus some Granger trademark traditions from the lunatic fringe.

For instance, while they'd trim the fake tree--Mr. Granger was allergic to the real ones--they'd listen not only to "Silent Night" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" but "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer;" they'd bite the heads off freshly baked gingerbread men, and whichever ones they bit, they put the rest of the body into their own personal bowl, and no one would be allowed to eat those cookies--if they wanted to, that is.

The night before Christmas, Blaise let everyone crowd into her room to watch "It's A Wonderful Life" with a giant bowl of popcorn that could have coupled as a cauldron. Hermione whispered to Blaise while George Bailey was shaking Clarence that the popcorn and gingerbread and cake was a treat; usually the most sugar Hermione had in that house was an apple.

After Hermione's parents had left and Hermione had prepared for bed, taking out her Night-Before-Christmas stuffed reindeer she'd slept with on the 24th of December since she was born, Blaise came into the room, bringing with her all her magazines.

"I know this is probably a bad time," Blaise whispered, "but I've looked at all of them, and I've marked the pages I think you should look at."

Hermione looked incredulously at this incomprehensible Slytherin. Then, slowly, she shook her head.

"I don't want those. I won't learn anything I need to know, not really. I... appreciate your help, but you really have helped enough, Blaise," Hermione explained. "Honestly." And Hermione knew she was grateful for Blaise's substantial aid, but she could not accept that sort of help from a person who apparently led more and more people into an illicit bed for money.

Blaise appeared undecided on just how to react. Then she set the magazines down next to the bathroom door.

"I'll just leave them here, Hermione," Blaise said. "Happy Christmas."

Hermione smiled as Blaise shut the light off, and she hugged her reindeer against the memory of what she would have to do. It was Christmas. Time to forget about it.

She slept easily.

~888~

_While Harry and Ron played the harpsichord, Blaise announced the next two contestant pairs for a reality TV show called "Who Wants to Date a Slytherin?"_

_Pansy and Draco came out first, their mouths consuming each other. At first it seemed like they were kissing, but Hermione soon saw that they were really victims of the Lip-Locker Curse. _

_Pansy was screaming, but they both fell off the stage. Hermione ran forward to see it they were unhurt. But apparently someone had also jinxed their clothes off, and they were quite involved in an in-depth study of one another's anatomy._

_Hermione could feel a twinge of something in her stomach, not nausea. Suddenly, she could feel Professor Snape's hands on her own bare shoulders._

_"I taught them everything they know," he said proudly._

_And then his hands were all over her, stroking her breasts and belly and between her legs, and she had never wanted anything so badly as to fall onto the bed that was beside them now and wrap her legs around him and..._

~888~

... _clench_! she thought as she wake from the culmination of pleasure she had never experienced before. _Clench_.

She sat up, moaning slightly at the memory of the dream hands

_clench_

and lips

_clench_

and tongue

_clench_

and slowly the feeling faded. Breathless, Hermione fell back against her pillow and retrieved her reindeer.

Almost as if nothing had happened, Hermione fell back to sleep.

~888~

When she next woke up, Hermione knew something had happened during the night, but she could not remember a thing, not even any part of the dreams.

"Happy Christmas!" cried Blaise from her door. She had apparently taken it upon herself to cruelly wake everyone with a pot and spoon from the kitchen.

Hermione gingerly fingered the sleep out of her eyes, then grabbed her warm, woolly bathrobe from its precarious position on the back of a chair. Hermione was also mindful to bring both her reindeer and everyone's gifts with her.

There were small piles for everyone. A few owls hung around to recover both from the snowy flight there and for going back. There was even a pile for Blaise.

Because she was a guest, she was allowed to open her presents first. She had received some gifts from her parents via owl: a new set of fine silver scales, a whole box of beauty supplies, and from her sisters, a bottle of carnelian powder. She laughed when she read Hermione's note that accompanied her gift.

"Especially since they do use the girls' dorm," Blaise confided.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger had even given her a custom-made T-shirt that read: Survivor of the Muggle World. Blaise cracked up again, but shared a look with Hermione that made her know that Blaise was not going to wear the shirt particularly often.

Blaise had heeded what Hermione had told her of Mr. and Mrs. Granger's gift preference, and they received not just two boxes of Toothflossing Stringmints, but four from the both of them.  
While she watched Crookshanks stalk all the wrapping paper, Hermione opened her own gifts: a beautiful new red and gold shawl wrapped around a box of ginger spice cake from Mrs. Weasley, a set of navy blue dress robes studded with silver in the shape of a curling and writhing dragon from her parents--which made her inquire how they had gotten it. Apparently, they had taken an order from the Daily Prophet advertisements. Even Blaise was gazing on it in envy. From Ron she received three sets of empty books and new quills--_For any sort of use. Maybe for university theory coursework. Hope Zabini's not giving you too much trouble_-- and from Harry she received a small moving painting of a ginger, bandy-legged cat nose to nose with a benevolent lion. As Hermione watched, the cat that looked like Crookshanks curled up against the lion's tawny belly and stared at her haughtily--_Thought you might like it. It was hanging in the Hogsmeade book shop. I was surprised I even spotted it, you know how crowded that shop is. When I asked the owner about it, he said I could buy it; he needed more book space anyhow. It just struck me as something you'd appreciate_.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Hermione but said nothing.

"Go get dressed now while I make breakfast. Excuse me... lunch," Mrs. Granger corrected herself.

"We always have an egg casserole on Christmas Day," Hermione informed as she and Blaise went up the stairs.

Blaise was not paying attention. "Your gift was more appropriate than you know. They use the girls' dorm when they want some, and it gets loud when they both climax."

"Can they do that?" Hermione asked, distinctly aware she had been given more information than she needed. "I thought there was a charm that prevented boys from coming to girls' dorms."

"Used to be," Blaise said. She rolled her eyes. "Twenty years ago. And Professor Snape never really saw a need to reimplement the charm. After all, no one complained. I was tempted to, though. But now, thanks to you, I can have a good night's sleep. Not to mention I can use them in Binns' class."

"That's not what I intended..." Hermione said, smiling. But her good mood was suddenly effaced at the appearance of a new owl that tossed her a package before immediately exiting the premises.  
It was a perfect sphere wrapped in plain brown parchment. On the outside was a semi-familiar script.

_Thought it would inspire you.Draco Malfoy_

"Don't open it," Blaise said abruptly. "I don't know what it is, but it can't be good."

Hermione hesitated. "Well..." she ventured. "He won't kill me; he wants me to sleep with Professor Snape, and he shouldn't curse me; I'm already cursed."

She knew there was a flaw in her logic, but she could not put her finger on it, so she tore off the wrapping and let the 'gift' lay in her hand.

It was slightly smaller than her palm, cool, clear, crimson marble that reflected her face in its sheen. But her image became independent as it moved away from the edge of the ball. A male figure came to meet her, and they embraced in one swift, fluid motion. The male bent over Hermione's reflective self, bringing her to the ball's floor, and Hermione recognized the oil slick of hair and the prominent nose as the images rolled on the floor.

Hermione dropped the ball in shock. Had it been Muggle-manufactured, the stone would have shattered. Instead, the marble bounced once, then lay still, revealing Hermione's image running her tongue along Snape's shoulder.

Blaise looked on the scene playing itself out and called Draco a very nasty name indeed. "That's low and as degrading to Professor Snape as to you. Though I must say Snape has a nice arse."

Hermione giggled shrilly, then gasped as the images tensed for one last moment

_clench_

and relaxed against one another. Then they stood and started again, this time doing something completely different.

"I don't reckon I've ever seen anyone do it like that before," Blaise began before Hermione picked up the ball and, repressing the urge to throw it through a window, thrust it into an old, stretched sock.

Hermione threatened Blaise that if she even mentioned the ball again, she would find herself thinking she ought to root herself and eat fertilizer.

~888~

Goodbyes between Blaise and Mr. and Mrs. Granger were surprisingly sincere. Blaise even (emptily) promised to write them now and then.

As they passed through the barrier at Platform 9 3/4, Blaise said almost wistfully, "That wasn't half bad, Hermione."

"I'm sure my parents are thinking the same thing. I wrote them a letter preceding our visit warning them of what they might expect. But you did well, Blaise, and well, thank you for. . . you know, helping me. Just don't take me through Erotica Alley any time soon."

"Deal," grinned Blaise. "And thank you."

Blaise offered an open hand. Hermione took it, and they shook.  



	9. Arousal

A/N: This is where the R sets in. Just over the line because it mentions in about a few sentences some actual sex. Not very explicit. But enough. I find it sort of scary that I've only been fairly PG-13 before. *losing confidence in the world's sexual sanity*****

****

**Chapter 9: Arousal**

Things went back to normal. She and Blaise did not talk much, but there was an almost palpable difference between the air around those two and other Slytherins--perhaps an absence of tension, animosity. Now and then they worked together in Potions. Blaise never cared how the other Slytherins ever looked at her, but Hermione politely acted distant during these projects. They had blissfully finished Love Potions and had continued into the more difficult Rejuvenation Potion.

The Love Potion seemed to have broken through Neville's mention potions block, and he did not brew only abysmal attempts anymore. He and Seamus did better than some of the others, though Hermione's and Blaise's was the closest to perfection. If Snape cared about the incongruous pairing, he indicated nothing.

Draco and Pansy tried to get a response from Hermione about their Christmas gift, but she pointedly ignored them. In fact, sometimes at night, Hermione took the sphere from her sock and watched the activities. At times, she felt like throwing up, but other times, a wave of pleasure like she had experienced in Erotica Alley flashed in her body before retreating as though guilty of some crime. And the images did inspire her as she became more accustomed to the sight of Professor Snape's blurry naked body against hers--she vaguely wondered how Draco had known what she or Snape looked like without clothes.

The charm of her Dare began sending her more sexually explicit dreams as further spurring and inspiration.

The one the finally convinced her to initiate the consummation of the Dare to stop the dreams ran something like this:

_Hermione was dancing in Erotica Alley to the beat of the pulsing crimson light. Her grinding hips were encased in a short leather skirt and she was wearing a thin black tube top that showed as much skin as possible while still hiding anything indecent enough in which to get arrested._

_Around her, other girls were gyrating and grinding, but their hips pressed firmly against a boy, boys who were stroking their bare skin like they were made of silk. Girls and boys next to her were making out, passionate and lustful as the quickening music. One boy had slipped his hand up a girl's scant skirt and pinched her buttocks, making her cry out._

_Hermione longed for someone with her. Her flesh was willing, reaching out for one of the boys around._

_When she saw Snape across the Alley, eyes smoldering as he watched her seductive motions, she danced all the more provocatively, running her own hands over the skin she knew he desired to know._

_Her temptation was too irresistible for even the controlled Potions Master, and he pushed through the crowd between them. As Hermione began whimpering, eager for him, Snape started pushing other couples and then he was there, pressing her grinding hips against his arousal. He was still fully clothed in his professorial attire, but she could feel him._

_She was open and quivering, her lips wet and full as she let him kiss her, slipping a sensuously probing tongue into her welcoming mouth._

_Hermione undid his trousers. That was all she would need from his, and she did not protest as he pushed down her clothing in one calculated stroke. He was hard against her belly, but then he gently lifted her and..._

_clench_

After she woke up from that dream, she had to scream against her pillow from the sheer carnality of the experience. They all became rapidly more intense each time she put off the seduction. She was afraid that very soon she would scream to him in her sleep.

Sleep, however, was the only time she felt anything for Professor Snape; the daytime found her shuddering at the thought of his touch.

Nevertheless, she prepared herself for her seduction.

Out of the bottom of her trunk, she took her bag of cosmetics and began to apply a little every day; she used the new hair potion. Underneath her robes, she wore one of the poor excuses of clothing, telling herself it had to be soon.

At night, after Parvati and Lavender had long since gone to sleep, Hermione sneaked their trashy romance novels out of their trunks and read them like textbooks, taking notes occasionally. After all, if she was going to do it, she might as well do it right. As she prepared, her dreams stopped, leaving her immensely relieved. And she had to admit, the romances were bad enough to be entertaining, like junk food after a long vegetable diet.

As Valentine's Day neared, her heart began to flutter and she knew, despite Snape's loathing for the day, that would be the evening she would ultimately strike.

In Potions class, she forced herself to think adoring thoughts; they disgusted her, but they did help her find things that she did like about Snape. He had good legs, for one, as she had noticed the first time she had taken a look. Fine hands, slightly roughened by calluses, but strong, nimble, and unusually smooth just the same. His agility was remarkable: fluid movements punctuated the menacing atmosphere he had created, and it was objectively rather amazing to watch his subtlety manipulate the emotions of his students. And as she watched him, she began to notice more and more the signs that he really was exhausted: there were dark circles under his eyes, though students rarely were comfortable looking at his eyes long enough to tell. It was in the set of his shoulders, the lines between his eyebrows, the tension in his mouth and neck. All betrayed him. Hermione wondered what exactly he did that made him so tired. Sometimes the symptoms were more pronounced, and Hermione observed the fact he often did not use his left arm on those days. Maybe only Dumbledore was the only other person who would take the time and care to recognize Snape's nuances enough to know when there were inconsistencies. She used a Descrier, a mirror she had bought in Hogmeade for the purpose of spying on Snape. Still vaguely ashamed and prudent, she would not view him after classes had finished for the day.

As she realized this would be the only way to ensnare him successfully, she warily began to watch him after hours as well. She would avoid observing him take off his clothes, something she found she just could not imagine with all the clothing he did wear. She would shut her eyes tight, then open them slightly to see if too much light skin was showing in the midst of his elegant, yet darkly furnished rooms. It was this way she found out he slept only in trousers, despite any sort of weather, and left his fire going through the night, though the heavy hangings of his four-poster prevented the light from penetrating. She was rather intrigued--after his before-bed routine was complete--by the way he looked when he was sleeping. Like most students, she rarely ever passed a thought to the fact Snape had to sleep, and that he did interested her greatly. It was the only time she could ever see him unguarded and vulnerable, as sleep does to everyone--but this was Snape, the callused Potions master with the tongue like a black braided leather whip, and he had no trace of malice or menace in his countenance as he slept.

Then, as she began to know his routines and mannerisms--sacrificing her general health in the process by going to sleep too late, waking up too early--he changed on her one night when he did not go to bed. Hermione, who could recite everything he did before bed, jolted into awareness as his schedule drastically changed on her.

Rather than removing his clothes, he went to his enormous wardrobe--which consisted mainly of black robes, which cause Hermione to both wonder at his financial status and wonder why he did not just keep seven robes, one for each day of the week, and one more for formal wear--and from the back of it grabbed a heavy, charcoal gray cloak and mask attached to a hood.

Snape was fidgety, which was unusual in itself; usually, he had a certain unnatural stillness, and even when he moved, she could sense his almost slithering quality, but still that characteristic motionlessness would dominate his actions. Now, however, all grace had left him as he twined his fingers, plucked at his robes, shifted from one leg to another, even trembling. After his cloak was in place, Snape opened a door in the back of his wardrobe and slipped through it.

_He's been summoned by Lord Voldemort_, Hermione thought in horror, and she shut down the mirror and hid it under her mattress. A Death Eater gathering was the last thing she wanted to see. Her stomach churned in remembrance of her last confrontation with Voldemort's most devoted servants....

But the Death Eaters had no bearing on her Challenge, and she did not need to watch them to understand their capabilities... though this summoning provided her with an idea.

After the gatherings, Snape was generally more exhausted than usual and would probably be more susceptible to her 'advances.'

_That settles it, then_, she thought grimly. _I start tomorrow_. There was no Potions class for her the following day, but Snape always stayed in his classroom after the last class of the day. He would be alone, and it would be less likely that there would be an interruption by another class. He was rarely disturbed at the end of the day. Few were that brave.

So she lay back on her bed and dreamed of scrambling rats and little Crookshankses running around like squirrels as Hermione tried to calm him.

~888~

Hermione's back was to the wall, her heart pulsating at andante, almost fainting from anxiety. She still did not know how to properly begin, though once they began, she had quite a few good ideas where to go from there.

But there was still the problem of beginning.

She wished she had thought to bring her Descrier, but the door was slightly ajar, so she peered in, bracing herself for his rebuttal.

As she slipped her head through the opening, there was no response, so she turned her head to check for him. Snape was at his desk, his head in his arms, eyes shut and rectangular eyeglasses askew atop the bridge of his nose.

_I've never seen Professor Snape with glasses before_, Hermione thought absentmindedly before she stepped completely into the room and shut the door behind her.

She approached him slowly, edging around desks, staying as far as she could from Snape, painfully knowing that she would not have that sort of separations if Hermione convinced Snape to have sex with her.

_fine hands stroking her breast, his thumb rubbing against her nipple and making her cry out as a sweet warmth trickled down into her lower abdomen, her pleasure magnified by the curve of the glass_

Hermione froze at the unbidden image that she recalled from the sphere Draco had given her. It was not her imagination that she had actually reacted to the vision, her skin crawling deliciously for one moment. She shook her head to clear it. Now was no time to start truly lusting for her Professor. It would be only a strange sort of one-night stand.

_Besides_, whispered a wicked voice inside, _it's forbidden_.

_That shouldn't even be an issue_, Hermione snapped back. _I shouldn't be voluntary thinking that way. That's disgusting. He's disgusting._

_No, he's not_, the voice whispered, no longer wicked. _Look_.

So she did. While he admittedly did not have a good-looking countenance, asleep, Hermione was able to see past the demeanor Snape generally made for himself. The Descrier only let her get within fifteen feet of him, but now she was closer and could observe without chastisement the lines edging his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, the curve of his throat as he swallowed convulsively, the tension of his brow, the messy sweep of his oily mane of black hair. All of these seemed to take the Professor she knew and revealed his troubles. The sleeve of his left arm had slid up and she could see the edge of the Dark Mark she knew he had.

She found herself drifting closer, reaching out with curious hands. His skin did not look greasy....  
Snape's eyes flew open, and before Hermione could touch him, he had jerked standing, grabbed Hermione's upper arms and pushed her violently against the wall behind his desk, looming menacingly over her. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were wide and frantic. They were not the eyes of a man angered, but of a man greatly startled.

"Don't you know better?" he yelled. "I would think that you of all people would..." Then Snape stopped, stunned at what he saw. Her robes had been rearranged and the right shoulder of the sleeve slipped down arm, showing the provocative translucent shoulder of the negligee she had bought.

There was a light of something Hermione had never expected in his eyes: confusion. And could there be a spark of... lust? The last thought, despite that this was the objective, made her shudder in revulsion.

At her reaction, Snape let her go as if she were suddenly burning hot, then he looked at his hands as though she had given him blisters. His head snapped up, and now he was furious, his voice deceptively low and measured.

"As difficult as it is to believe, two other girls in the last fifteen years or so have tried to... _attract_ my attention. I don't know what sick delusions have planted themselves in your mind, which I had hoped would be practical enough to ignore ridiculous amorous notions, but put them away now. It will pass."

He took her shoulder in hand--the shoulder with a sleeve covering it--and forcefully maneuvered her to the door. Then he pushed her unceremoniously out.

Hermione could hear the distinctive sound of a Locking Charm that denied _Alohomora_ being applied, blocking her entrance.

Hermione stood there for a moment, paralyzed by the dual surprises of having stirred Snape--even a little--and learning that there had been other girls who had tried to seduce him.

She adjusted her robes so that they would be respectable to any passer-by and forced a smile on her face. It was a start. She would not be able to catch him off-guard again, so she would just have to confront him on Valentine's Day night.

~888~

She avoided everyone's eyes, especially Snape's, who was particularly keen on doing the same.  
Harry and Ron both noticed her sudden withdrawal, but since she did not seem to be snappish, they let it go, guessing the reason. Blaise also observed her attitude, though oddly enough, Draco and Pansy did not. Blaise offered what support her apathy would allow. And this was to say that when Snape knew Hermione was not looking at him, he would look at her.

"And," Blaise would say semi-wickedly, "it's not all incredulity."  



	10. Consummation

**Chapter 10: Consummation**

"Harry, Ron, I'm not coming back to the common room tonight," Hermione said mildly.

Harry and Ron just stared at her, unsure of how to respond, uncomfortable at the insinuation.

"Sooo... just dissuade and misdirect anyone who comes asking about me, unless it's Blaise." Hermione played with her fingers and would not meet their eyes. "She'd like to know, but I don't think I can--" Her voice caught, and she was suddenly very aware of the sensuous slide of translucent silk and thick satin underneath her robes. The heat of Snape's gaze, even for that one moment, scared her, but she could not stop thinking about it and seeing it and feeling the excitement of power of having the ability to stimulate, arouse. But she knew neither boy would understand, even a little, so her combined allure and revulsion for what she was going to do tonight she kept to herself.

"Um, good luck, I guess," Ron said shiftily. "I mean..." He could not say much else. He examined the embroidery of the floor.

Harry seemed to be struggling with something. He never knew it, but his face had always shown every emotion he had ever had. It was clear he was feeling guilty, as guilty as when he had made his mistake with Sirius.

"Harry..." Hermione began, but he leaned forward and gave her an awkward hug.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm sorry. Next time you can let us be stupid on our own. I'm sorry."

"Harry..." Hermione said, "after tonight it'll be over for me and you won't have to worry." She despised lying, and it seemed Harry knew she was lying, too. He shook his head.

"I need to do it," she whispered. "You know I do."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "but you shouldn't have to." He turned away and stormed out the portrait hole. He did not look back.

Ron's ears had gone a beautiful shade of vermilion. He tried to say something, but his voice failed him and he followed Harry. Hermione was left in the common room--not all alone, for there were many Gryffindors lounging about or doing homework, but none were aware of her plight, so none could sympathize. None knew, so she left the common room herself and went to the dining hall early.

Valentine's Day, save for the memorable holiday of her second year, was a casual affair where a few cards and presents were exchanged. The females were more emphatic about the latter, so sometimes there were rows over forgotten gift-giving, and those were entertaining. It didn't usually happen though.

Today was no exception. Hermione sat down at her accepted seat and began her early dinner. She had no appetite, so anxious was she over the night that was going to follow.

"Nervous?" Blaise whispered in her ear.

Hermione started, then put a hand to her heart to steady herself. "Blaise, you scared me to death."

"No, you're still breathing as far as I know," Blaise said dryly. "But your nerves are tight, which answers my question. Potter told me."

"Don't suppose you could offer a word of comfort?" Hermione mused aloud.

"Try and enjoy it."

"What?!" Hermione cried, jerking around in anger.

"You heard me. If you don't enjoy it--if you're cold--it will only hurt more. You _are_ a virgin, aren't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"So give it to him and enjoy it."

Hermione, realizing how loud they were becoming, lowered her voice and hissed, "Do you have any idea how much more awfully I would feel if I enjoyed what I was doing? I'd feel like a slut."

"He's going to enjoy it, and I think it will bother him after the fact, but it will help you during intercourse, which--at this time--should be all you are thinking about. Just a bit of advice and small consolation."

Hermione slapped her. Blaise's face turned bright red where Hermione had hit her, but she just laughed indifferently and returned to the Slytherin table.

_Enjoy it?_ Hermione thought bitterly. _How am I supposed to enjoy it? I'm going to sleep with a professor, for Merlin's sake!_

_his lips tease her neck as his hand drifts down her abdomen, and lower. She arches to his touch, and he smiles, half-lidded eyes glowing, and claims her mouth again...._

Hermione slammed the door shut in her mind. No, she must not think of that.

_It will only hurt more_, Blaise's voice whispered sneakily. _You _are_ a virgin, aren't you_?

She raised her hands to clap them over her ears, then forced herself midway to doing so not to attract attention. _Just eat your dinner, and you'll be fine_, she told herself sharply. _You'll be fine._

But the churning of her stomach belied her anxiety, and despite her attempt to maintain a calm demeanor, the food was threatening to abandon her stomach.

Harry and Ron came in later, but Harry took one look at Hermione and walked to the other end of the table. Ron followed him. Lavender and Parvati started whispering delicious gossip about what had supposedly gone on between the three best friends. Hermione was interested at the rumors she might hear about herself on the morrow.

Dinner was torture, Harry and Ron sneaking glances at her, shame painted in wide strokes on their faces. The valentine she received from the Slytherin table did not help matters.

It was an elegant bit of emerald parchment tied by a silver ribbon, its origins made clear. The cackling of a certain group of Slytherins also made its writer very clear.

Almost rebelliously, Hermione opened the parchment and read, blushing more every second:

_Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
Snape's lonely and sad  
And waiting for you._

_Do you feel his desire  
When he screams out your name?  
I know you screamed back  
The moment he came._

_So you return again.  
No, you can't get enough.  
Don't you just love it  
When real men get rough?_

_I know you dream of him,  
The... magic of his touch.  
And the Potions Master told him  
You fulfill him very much._

_So return to his quarters  
I reckon he won't mind,  
He yearns for the feeling  
Of yours and his entwined._

_On the desk, on the bed  
In a cauldron, burning red  
With the fire you inflame.  
He can't get you out of his head._

_Caress him, kiss him, tease him.  
His blood burns with desire  
To have you tight around him  
Exploding with your fire._

_Draco Malfoy_

Hermione wanted to scream, cry, and make a scene. She wanted to throw up onto her plate. She wanted to run out of the Dining Hall. She wanted to stop blushing. She wanted to go back to the beginning of the year and avoid the entire quandary altogether. But most of all, she wanted to kill Draco Malfoy.

She did none of these things. She ignited the parchment with an outward mien of pleasant surprise, then resumed eating. It was all she could do to keep from a fantastic display of carnage Lord Voldemort would be proud of.

~888~

She hesitated before the door of his office. According to the apprehended Marauder's Map, Snape's quarters were located flush against his private laboratory, which was in turn connected to his office--presumably in case he wanted to brew a potion during the night, which Hermione had never seen him do.

Gathering her courage, she opened the door until it was just the width to get through, then she shut it behind her, doing the same to the laboratory door. She hesitated again at the door to Snape's quarters.

Everything she had planned became painfully read, not something that was going to happen in the future, but something that was here, now. Her hands began to tremble violently at the knowledge that in just minutes, she was going to walk into a professor's room, remove her robes, and climb into his slimy, disgusting, wretched, contemptible, damning... A shriek was building up in her throat, but she forced herself to remain composed.

She opened the door.

A dying flickering fire faintly illuminated the open sitting room and bedroom. It was modestly furnished, yet elegantly masculine in the forest greens, maroons, and navy blues coupled with dark wood grain. Across the rooms was his four-poster, bed curtains forcefully drawn, barring the extent of her sight.

Fingers trembling in fear, she removed her robes, then set them on one of the couches in the sitting room. She lifted her feet from her slippers. The soft padding of her bare feet gently betrayed her approach to the bed. She slowly drew back the curtains.

But at the first crack of fire light, Snape flew at her in a fury. This time he wasted no time on surprise with her attire. He whipped her around so that her arm was twisted up her back and she was facing away from him toward the fire.

"If I wasn't so composed, Miss Granger, at the sound of my office door opening I would have killed you. What madness is this? Do you still fancy yourself in lust for me?" He shook her. "I'll confess I was startled, but not terribly so at your initial advances, but I never believed you would be so mundane as to sneak into my chambers and attempt to seduce me here." His voice slowly rose in volume as his grip grew tighter. "I shall have to tell your Head of House about this encroachment--"

"Oh, no, please don't," Hermione gasped, pleading, wincing at the pain up her arm.

"Yes," he said, shaking her more intensely. "To approach a professor... the Headmaster would be interested in such matters..."

"No, Professor, you don't understand--"

"I understand perfectly!" he barked. "I had fooled myself into thinking that you had more common sense than those oversexed girls, but I was obviously mistaken. Can you imagine the look on Professor McGonagall's face when she sees her chick's mindless folly. Or even better, Potter's..."

"He already knows," Hermione said desperately.

"Then no wonder he avoided you during dinner this evening. Grow up, Miss Granger. Now let's go wake your Head."

She began struggling to the best of her ability, willing herself to ignore the bolts of pain shooting through her arm.

"Please, Professor, I--"

"Silence, girl!"

"But I--"

"I said silence!"

"You--"

"SILENCE!" Snape bellowed.

"I HAVE TO!" Hermione yelled back. The force of the statement, in both volume and pained sincerity, halted Snape in his tracks. "I don't _want_ to, Professor, I _have_ to."

Snape abruptly released her arm. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

"It was a Dare."

"Deny it, it's easy enough," Snape snapped.

"Not an ordinary Dare. Wizard's Dare. I am bound to execute it."

Snape wore softly, and Hermione turned around. "Draco Malfoy Dared me to seduce you."

He stumbled away from her to one of the couches. He sank down, shocked. "Why?" he inquired, his face ashen.

Hermione sat on a couch adjacent to his. "He said it was because you were looking... more unhealthy than usual. But it was really because of Harry's Dare for him."

Snape's countenance hardened. "Potter was there as well?"

"And Ron and Pansy. And Blaise," Hermione added.

"Miss Zabini?" Snape said. An eyebrow arched. "I would not have thought she'd be drawn into something as risky and foolish as Wizard's Truth or Dare. Then again, I would not have thought it of you."

"I figured Harry and Ron wanted moral support in their stupidity," Hermione muttered bitterly.

Snape barked a sharp laugh. "It took you long enough to realize it."

"They're smart sometimes," Hermione replied softly. "But you and your Slytherins bring out the worst in them."

Snape snorted. "That's not so hard."

"I'll admit that in fifth year, he was a bit of a prat, but so was Ron in fourth year, and so was I this year, especially after the Dare. Remember, I went hysterical; I had a break down."

"Was that what the academic meeting was about?"

Hermione nodded.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "When exactly did this games take place?"

"The day before we started Love Potions--"

"--And Mr. Finnegan made his inappropriate advances. You did seem unusually distraught."

Hermione glanced at Snape, surprised that he would have been sensitive enough to notice.

There was a slight pause.

"Just out of curiosity, what was the Dare Potter gave to Mr. Malfoy that cause such reciprocation?" Snape turned to her, then looked away again.

Hermione blushed, but she could not keep the smile from her face. "You'd be proud of Harry. Considering their rivalry, I think he gave quite an effective Dare."

Snape interrupted, "That caused your predicament."

Hermione continued as though she had not heard him, though her face flushed even more. "Malfoy has to either kiss Mrs. Norris' behind or Mr. Filch passionately on the lips in the middle of the Great Hall."

Snape's face twisted in revulsion. "That's worse than I thought."

"But, as I said, it was effective."

"Revolting, but under the circumstances..." He shook his head. "All's fair..."

"... in love and war," Hermione finished awkwardly.

"I know how it ends, Miss Granger."

Another pause, considerably tenser than the last.

This time Snape was unnaturally gentle. "Explain the specific requirements of the Dare. Mr. Malfoy would have been thorough."

Hermione would not say anything for a while, though she opened her mouth several times. When she finally began to speak, it sounded like her voice fought through wool. "I seduce you without the aid of magic, have sex once, you do whatever else you want with me, and I spend the night here next to you. In the morning, you tell Malfoy that it happened. He made it clear that I could not get out of it."

"Did he give you a time restraint?" Snape asked.

"Until the end of the year. When I mentally and physically tried to rebel, I got sick, I had dreams..." Hermione trailed off, mind drifting guiltily to what these dreams had been.

_flesh on flesh_

Another silence. Snape abruptly stood and paced in front of the fire. Hermione watched him, features in almost total silhouette, the profile of his face subtly brooding. Her breathing began to quicken as she realized he as well as she dreaded the inevitable moment when she would have to seduce him, thus breaking almost every rule of the rapport between student and teacher and destroying each other's dignity at the same time.

"Professor," Hermione ventured warily, "I don't want to do this any more than you do, but I have no choice."

"You had one," he snarled, the accusation blatant. "But you chose to be an idiot. Now _I_ have to pay."

"Well, if _you_ hadn't encouraged Malfoy at every turn--"

"If _Potter and Weasley_ weren't so keen on upholding Gryffindor honor--"

"If _you_ weren't a Death Eater--"

Snape whirled around, eyes blazing luminously. "What has that got to do with it?" Then there was a flash of something like revelation in his eyes, anguish, then nothing.

"This summer you were summoned more often than usual, weren't you? It exhausts you, and the Slytherins noticed that. It was your exhaustion that made Malfoy think I'd be a nice, little gift to calm you down. And look," Hermione said snidely, indicating herself, "I even packaged myself for the occasion."

Snape's eyes focused on her costume. It was actually quite modest in many respects, but what counted was showing. She had used the hair and skin potions and powders for a week, and now blemishes had been replaced by smooth, almost glowing skin and softer hair than Hermione was used to dealing with. But her hair and skin was not what Snape was looking at. Not at all. Blaise, the mirror, and the boys had done sinfully well in their selection. It was a dark rose red negligee that extended to the ground, the skirt flowing, splitting at the legs all the way to her hips, leaving no room for underclothes. The bodice and straps were of a thin semi-transparent silk that had it been any other material it would have been only slightly revealing. But through the thin material, accentuated sensuously by the firelight, the color and curve of her breasts were painfully apparent. Hermione stood to his gaze, ashamed at the seductive play, but aware of its effect on him. He licked his lips self-consciously and tried to stand straighter, more intimidating. The direction of his stare belied his attempted deception.

And Hermione was trying to ignore the fact Snape himself was half naked as well. His shoulders and chest were broad, shadows enhanced by a thatch of black chest hair, but he was not merely thin. His ribs were stretching through the skin and his body was practically gaunt in the dim light. His cheekbones looked like those of a skull. His complexion was white from both genetics and underexposure to the sun, and it provided a sharp contrast to his hair. Hermione remembered again the fine shape of his hands.

_running burning trails along her skin_

She took one step forward, and he flinched, twisting his face into a poor excuse for normalcy. "Where did you find such an ensemble? It--"

"Horizon Alley, right next to Erotica Alley," Hermione said as she continued to advance. For the first time, she saw him at a loss for words.

"Sit down, Professor," she whispered, uncertain now. "I-I'm not very sure where to begin."

His mouth thinned until his lips nearly disappeared, but he settled back onto one of the couches.

"I don't suppose you could--" Hermione ventured.

"He said _you_ seduce _me_, Miss Granger," he replied coldly. "So do what you will."

She hesitated, then reached out to touch his shoulder. He drew back with a hiss, but then forced himself to relax against her.

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" Hermione said, her tone a mixture of apprehension, slight excitement, guilt, and resignation.

"Considering I desperately wish to flee the situation, I think this is as cooperative as you'll find me for now," he said stiffly.

"Oh."

She slid her finger down his back, increasing the amount of skin she was touching until her entire hand was on him. His muscles were tense, straining against her hand. A thin sweat at the combined touch created an almost protective layer between them. He was slightly clammy, but under his anxious skin was a burning, tight heat. The texture of him was surprisingly smooth, marred only by the rasping down of his body hair, and Hermione felt a terrible revulsion and a horrifying attraction; she did not know which was worse. Snape had closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he wanted to spring away, into the fire, out of the room.

Her thumb rested into the depression above his collarbone. All her concentration was on the feel of him, the grating sound in her ear of his strangled breath, the flickering of the fire turning his pale skin to a golden red.

"Professor," she whispered. She ran her hand up his neck to his jaw where he was slightly prickly. He only shaved every two days in the morning, and the dusting of a beard tried to jar her back to reality; she pushed it stubbornly aside. The pad of her index finger brushed his lower lip, and she trembled.

"Professor, I'm not sure..." She leaned over him, bracing herself with her other hand on his knee. Rather than hesitate, which she physically yearned to do, she quickly and completely pressed her lips against his.

His mouth was softer than she would have expected, especially since few soft words escaped it. He stiffened at first, but as she kissed him again, his lips relaxed, falling cautiously into the rhythm that Hermione set as she captured and recaptured his mouth, trying to simulate what she knew of passion that she had absorbed from her dreams. However, she could not help but notice the herbal smell of a Potions professor, the throaty sound of his breathing, the knowledge of his lips sliding against his uneven teeth as he kissed her, the complete wrongness of his hand covering hers.

She stumbled backward, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She shuddered so violently, it was like a seizure, and she fell to the ground, curling herself into a sitting ball, leaning against one of the couches.

"I can't do this," she gasped between dry sobs and near hyperventilation. "I just--gods, this is so bad, so _bad_."

"You brought it upon yourself." His words were quiet, almost under his breath, but they sounded in Hermione's ears like shattering cymbals. She covered her ears and shook her head emphatically, eyes clenched shut, closing out any indication of her guilt.

With an agility few men of his age possessed, he stood, then crouched to his knees in one fluid motion. He bent over her and yanked her hands from her ears.

"_You_ did it. This is not Malfoy's fault, Zabini's fault, or Parkinson's fault. This is not Potter's or Weasley's fault. This is _your_ punishment."

"I didn't want to, even then I didn't want to!"

"But you did it anyway, Miss Granger. You made a conscious decision to destroy yourself. Now you have to pull yourself together and do it, then forget about it."

"I can't!" she screamed. "Maybe you can, but when I leave, I'm going to remember this for the rest of my life. It's bothered me enough getting to the point where I could come here, but this isn't one of those ordeals where the anticipation is worse than the action. This is not going to go away."

"You should have thought of that!" he bellowed, pulling back his right hand to slap her, then setting it down with a modicum of restraint.

"Should! Should! Should!" Hermione countered. "It all sounds so easy as hindsight, but it's not so easy at the time. Aren't there stupid decisions you've made in your life that you look back on and cringe?" Hermione looked pointedly at Snape's left forearm where the Dark Mark was clear and distinct, even in the now almost extinguished light.

She instinctively clutched at the arm. His mouth snapped shut, but he did not break eye contact.  
Hermione found that, as much as she wanted to, she could not tear her glimmering eyes from his, and slowly but surely her tears evaporated.

"Are you ready to be reasonable, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, cold as a day in January.

"There is nothing reasonable about this. You made that clear."

Snape leaned away and settled back against the seat of a couch, legs outstretched casually. He no longer looked furious, frustrated, or irritated, but finally resigned. The lines on his forehead and the creases at his eyes and mouth lessened. The muscles of his face settled in exhaustion.

"It's past midnight, Miss Granger, and I need to get up in the morning."

"So do I."

There were many snide remarks that he could have shot at her, but he just continued the even rise and fall of his chest.

"It really isn't personal," Hermione offered quietly. "I'd be this way if I was forced onto anyone else in the school."

"But it's worse with me," Snape said, not bitterly.

"Not really."

"Pretend it isn't me. The fire's nearly extinguished. When it's dark, you don't have to see me, and you can substitute me with the desirable man of your choice."

Hermione shook her head. "I have none."

There was a pause as they watched the embers valiantly continue to burn. It was only when a few sparks were left and the room was nearly dark that there was a rustle of satin on satin.

Hermione crawled over to him, over his legs. She straddled him gently, leaving a fairly modest space between their hips. Then she twined a hand in his hair and pulled him to her.

This time, Hermione was patient with herself. She was tired, which in the end, especially in the dark, was her biggest aid.

She was soft, hesitant, but focused enough that Snape yielded to her in a pitied response. Maybe he realized how much was at stake. Maybe he felt Hermione had been punished enough. Or maybe he was just a man. But with equal patience, slowly building in mutual attraction, Snape ignored the voice of Dumbledore that served as his conscience, and let Hermione play him like the perfect instrument.

Hermione gradually forgot who she was kissing--it was a miracle--and a throbbing knot of warmth curled between her hips. She knew the moment Snape stopped caring as well. As she had said to herself, she had an idea what she could do after beginning, but it was the beginning that was the most difficult. However, now that they had crossed that boundary, Hermione was prepared. She did not move forward yet, but her hands reached out and explore the wiry muscles of his arms, his chest, and back. He was guarded then, though she could feel him under her fingers growing warmer and warmer. But when she deliberately ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip, he gave a muffled moan and opened his mouth for her. That was what took Hermione. She grabbed his hands and slid them to her breasts. His thumbs teased the peaks until she pressed her hips against his and she could feel him against her. Her voluminous skirts seemed a hindrance.

Snape pushed her off, catching her off guard, and she almost started yelling at him, her coerced passion fading away. But he just stood, pulling Hermione up with him. He covered her protesting mouth with his; his hands grasped her lower hips and pressed her closer to him than she had been. As his lips trailed from her mouth to her neck, gracing her skin with teasing thrusts of his tongue, Hermione was even more aware of his arousal, and she rubbed herself against him. His breathing was harsh, but his mouth drifted lower, moistening the silk over her breasts, sending brilliant streaks of hot pleasure between her legs.

He was maneuvering her to his bed, and she panicked until his left hand slipped through the slit in her skirt, caressing her with purposeful strokes. Hermione lost control of herself and let out cry of longing and she mimicked him to make him respond. He removed his hand.

When she felt him leave her, she made her own caresses more insistent. He bucked against her, and she lost her balance, falling against the bed. She could hear the hiss of clothes against skin, and when he joined her, she knew he was not wearing anything anymore.

He was kissing her again, the deft plundering of his tongue melting her, making her cling to him. His hands, though, were prudently sweeping her back. She wanted him to touch her more sensuously and tried to... persuade him otherwise.

"Miss G--Hermione, how do you take this off?"

Hermione giggled against his neck. "Just pull the back. It'll open."

And he did, slipping the silk and satin down her body and throwing it aside.

Then Hermione forced him onto his back, and as the last ember of the fire went out, she began the real seduction of Professor Severus Snape.  



	11. Consequences

**Chapter 11: Consequences**

Snape woke up slowly, warmer and more languid than he was used to. It was not unpleasant. She was half-draped on him, her leg and arm across him and her head rested on his chest. He brushed some hair out of her face.

Revulsion of the act coupled with satisfaction and desire of the same writhed in his belly.

They had made love three separate times. The first, Hermione had ridden him with the expertise of the experienced but with a terrible sincerity of one untried. She had no maidenhead, but Snape knew better than to think she was anything but a virgin. Then again, so was he.

He, like Hermione, was, if anything, practical, and the last thing that had ever crossed his mind as something on which to waste his time was sex. Throughout his adolescent and adult years, Snape had repressed every sexual desire he had, dismissing lust as counterproductive--not that he had not had... thoughts sometimes, but he would forcefully push them away. Now he both agreed and disagreed. Sex was certainly counterproductive, but certainly not a waste of time.

After Hermione had climaxed, surprisingly before he had, she had almost drifted off into sleep, but even as her eyes were closing and he had slipped himself out of her, she had begun touching him again, rhythmically pushing her hips against him, caressing him in strong, deliberate strokes. He had shuddered with the delicious sensuality she could so easily coax from him, then took the lead, seducing her this time. She had throbbed around him, but she fell asleep near the end, leaving him to peak on his own.

The third time was an interesting one. At about four in the morning, Snape work to the feeling of Hermione's tongue licking the area directly below his navel. He knew she was asleep when he tried to tell her to stop. She protested that the cake tasted like roses and her hands tightened dangerously on his thighs. Snape felt it better not to impede the somnambulist. But he already had a raging hard on due to the proximity of her administrations, and Snape had to gently pull her up by her hair so that he could release the lust she had been building in him. She accepted him so easily he did not think her dreams were very dull.

It was only now that Snape realized the danger of having more than the one required time. The first was supposedly done out of duty, but the others could not be dismissed as anything but sexual desire.

So what was he going to do with her? Hermione would have to wake up at one point, and however awful Obliviate was for him, he felt compelled to let Hermione decide her own fate. He knew she would have noted his decision to let her coax him into satisfying his hunger again and again. He could think of three responses she could make:

She would ask for Obliviate and he would not have to worry about the memory of last night bothering both of them.

She would scream in horror and run away from her perverted professor.

Or she would ask him to have sex with her again.

The possibility of the third made him stir, but he twisted his mind to frigid thoughts to cool his presently sensitive passion. The sensual weight of her breasts against his stomach was not aiding his self-control. He reached out and stroked them for the last time, memorizing the texture of her nipples. Then he withdrew, and with the greatest of cares disengaged himself from her embrace, supplementing his warmth with an extra blanket over her naked body and a pillow in her arms. He tried not to look at her.

Feeling slightly dirty from the tumble, Professor Snape retired into his bathroom and took a cold shower that really served two purposes. As he washed, he contemplated the different reactions Hermione might have and steeled himself for each. Then he dressed and prepared for the day in every way possible to avoid the bedroom.

_To avoid the illicitly attractive thought that there is a naked girl in your bed with your seed trickling down her thighs and onto your sheets._ Snape extinguished the thought quickly, composed himself, and reentered his rooms.

Hermione was awake and sitting up in the bed with the blankets pulled around her. She had an endearing pitiful look, like she had been valiantly trying not to cry, and her hair was disheveled in such a way that if anyone came in, they would know exactly what had transpired.

Before she could say a word, Snape said, "If you'd like a shower, as I'm sure you would, you are free to use mine." He had carefully toned his voice to an air of coolness.

Hermione stared at him for a while, then wrapped one of the blankets completely around her body. She grabbed the satin negligee, and Snape watched as her left leg bent out of the modest make-shift covering.

"Could you hand me my robes?" she asked quietly. Snape admired her control. He walked over to the couches and retrieved the robes she had discarded. When he handed them to her, there was space enough between them for a cauldron.

Without a word, Hermione turned, not unkindly, and escaped into his bathroom.

In her absence, he made the bed, changing the sheets. He hoped the house-elves did not report instances of come on male professors' bedclothes. While he planned to report this to the Headmaster immediately, he would prefer it if the words came from him first.

When he had arranged the room back to the way it had been before--save the sound of the shower--he unlocked another door near the mantle and stepped into the Slytherin common room.

Blaise Zabini had slept on one of the black leather couches, anxious in spite of herself about Hermione's welfare. She approached the Head after he had closed the door behind him.

She raised her eyebrow.

And he nodded.

"Is she--?" Blaise ventured.

"She seems fine, Miss Zabini. I suppose you'll talk to her later, but right now I wish to speak with Mr. Malfoy. Where is he?"

Blaise looked like she wanted to vomit, but instead she pointed him up the stairs. "In the girls' dormitory with... Pansy. Can I watch?" she asked hopefully.

"If you follow me, I won't stop you."

She grinned.

Snape ascended the stairs.

The girls of Blaise's and Pansy's year had long since learned to avoid their own dormitory due to the tremendous amount of noise the couple made and their general tenacity all through the night. The mornings were the best, especially during the weekends because they were so exhausted and slept well past noon.

Snape entered the dormitory without much ceremony and threw open the bed curtains. Pansy shrieked and covered herself, and Draco lifted his head from Pansy's thighs.

"Mr. Malfoy, I want you in my chambers in five minutes," Snape ordered. Then he closed the curtains again. Blaise was giggling madly at the doorway, but she wisely stepped out of the way as Snape swept down the stairs.

~888~

When Draco entered the room, Snape was sitting on one of the couches. The sound of the shower was still going. Snape thought she might be drowning herself. Draco glanced in the direction of the drumming water and smirked.

"So she did it," he sniggered. "The high-minded slut did it."

Snape nodded.

"Was she good?"

Snape nodded again. "So good, in fact, I'm willing to do a rather distressing favor for her. Against you."

Draco's grin evaporated.

"Miss Granger was so kind as to enlighten me on the nature of her situation." Snape raised his eyes to Draco's, making Draco very uncomfortable. "She implied the reason why she was here was because a vengeful someone wanted to get back at Potter for what he had Dared this someone. Can you guess who this someone is, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco had to look away. His Head's eyes were dead and baleful.

"The Dare that precipitated such revenge was to humiliate this someone in the middle of the Great Hall. When does this someone plan to execute this Dare?"

"Soon, Professor," Draco muttered.

"When, Mr. Malfoy?"

There was silence.

Hermione came out of the bathroom, fully dressed in her robes, drying her hair with a towel. She froze when she saw Draco, and the hands that held the towel cautiously fell. She hung the towel before the fire and walked to a corner near the bed. She watched them with apprehension and crossed her arms over her chest. Draco was leering nastily at her.

"Mr. Malfoy, would you stop ogling at Miss Granger and pay attention to me. She has paid her due." When he turned back to Snape, Draco was considerably more sober.

"I am going to challenge you, Mr. Malfoy. Some time this following week, you will execute your Dare. _This week_. If you fail to do so, you will be given a severe detention with me, then I will invite your father out of Azkaban, flanked by Azkaban guards, to stay at Hogwarts for as long as it takes you to execute the Dare. In short, if you do not do your Dare within the next week, I shall have Lucius see his son dishonor the Malfoy name. Have I made myself clear?"

Draco's pale face had gone a beet red and he glared at Hermione.

"Do not blame Miss Granger for you misfortune," Snape said dismissively. "As far as I can tell, _you_ initiated the game."

Draco sputtered a moment, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"And just to show my displeasure, twenty points from Slytherin for stupidity," Snape called after him. When the door had closed, Snape's sight turned inward.

"You may go now, Miss Granger," Snape said quietly.

"That's it?" Hermione replied slowly. "After last night, is that all you can say?"

"No," he said, "but that's all I care to say at the present."

Hermione almost choked in indignation, but she tried to maintain a calm exterior. "You just... dismiss me like I'm some sort of..."

"I could offer you an 'A' for the year as consolation or a hundred and fifty House points, but I don't think you would accept either." He stood and went to the desk behind the couches and arranged his lectures.

"You filthy... I'm not some two-cent whore you can dismiss," she articulated. "What are you going to do about this?"

Snape whirled around, slamming stacks of parchment onto the dark wood. "What do you want me to do?! Announce it from the Astronomy Tower, write a letter to the _Daily Prophet_, spread a rumor through the Slytherin grapevine? I'm already going to report this to the Headmaster. No," he responded to her protests, "you won't be in trouble. Just so that he won't stop Mr. Malfoy while he's trying to complete his Dare. The Headmaster understands the intricacies of Wizard's Truth or Dare; we have had a few instances of the game through the years. Now leave, Miss Granger." He directed her to the door entering his private laboratory.

She did not move.

"We will pretend nothing happened."

"That will not work," Hermione interjected softly.

Snape stalked to the corner and loomed over her. "And pray tell, why not?" he asked, his eyes menacing.

"By the time you speak to Professor Dumbledore, six other people will know I have had sex with you. And don't think I did not know it was more than once."

Snape winced.

"I'm not going to hear the end of it from Malfoy and Pansy. Blaise's okay, but Ron and Harry are going to treat me like they have for the last few months--as admittedly they have needed to. But they won't understand that... And what about you? It was bad enough I had to be in a room with you before we... but now, knowing that it's happened, it's going to be worse."

"I can Obliviate," Snape offered snippily.

"No!" Hermione shouted suddenly. Snape raised an eyebrow. "I... I don't want to forget last night."

She stood on her toes and kissed him, firmly and fiercely, letting her tongue freely caress his. Then she broke the kiss, slipped past him, and left. She did not run or look back, and Snape saw the provocative edge of her red satin negligee under the hem of her robes. He wondered why he had not noticed before.

~888~

Hermione ran down the the corridors, not really seeing where she was going, not really having anywhere she wanted to go. She passed so many students who stared at her curiously, but she would not look back at them. It was not until she pushed open the great doors and stepped nimbly down the steps and into the snow that she realized how much she just wanted to get away. Tears streamed down her face without her realizing they were there until they slipped into her mouth.

She tripped and fell into the snow, the powdery ice stinging her cheeks and causing the blood to blossom there behind her skin. Her hands clenched beneath her, and she began sobbing as though she would never stop, though even as she cried, her rational side wondered why. Her emotions had frayed to a point where they had completely severed from logic. She just cried.

The area between her legs still ached, though it was not a bad ache--more like the stretched feeling in a muscle after some good exercise. All she could think about was how she had acquired that ache.

She had never imagined how exquisite it could be, nor that she would still want it despite the person from whom she had taken it. Indeed, she could imagine it coming from no other man, yet she could not imagine ever seeing him again.

Her tears increased as the shame filled her and pierced at her heart like a fine needle. His visage floated upon her eyelids like a projection, needful and passionate, then horrified and angry, then completely blank. She could feel his hands on her, all over her, warm against the freeze of the snow. She buried her face in her arms.

Why should she ever get up again? How could she have kissed him again, when she should have just run away, obeyed Snape's advice, and pretended it never happened? How could she have confessed that she still wanted what he had given her? And how could he have made love to her again, then kissed her back the morning after?

She remember how his thin lips softened under her own, how his uneven teeth slid underneath them...

A cry rose in her throat. He still repelled her, her hated Potions Master, the person he was before the lights had gone out. He had not been her Potions Master when she had woken up, not even when he had yelled at her to leave things be, to retain the established rules they had just flouted and were perfectly willing to flout again.

She began shivering.

"Hermione?" inquired a great, booming voice from above her. "Are yeh alrigh'?"

Hermione rolled over and sat up. "Hagrid?" She wiped her face.

"Wha's the matter? Why're yeh cryin'?"

"Nothing, Hagrid, it's really nothing," Hermione assured him, brushing at a few more tears that leaked out from the corners of her eyes. "I just tripped, and my chin hit the ground hard, that's all."

"Uh huh." He clearly did not believe her. "Well, yeh look cold down there. Like a cup o' cocoa in me hut? Jus' made some special."

Hermione gave a wavery smile. "Thanks, Hagrid."

He smiled and stretched out a hand to aid her as she stood. She hesitated before taking it. The strength with which he pulled her up almost had her falling forward again.

"There now. Follow me an' we'll talk."

He led her down to his hut. Fang burst out the open door and jumped up in excitement at seeing Hermione.

"Down, Fang. Hermione's a bit distressed." Hagrid took a hold of Fang's collar and pulled him back. Hermione gave Hagrid a sideways glance. How could he tell?

"Come on in and settle yerself down in one of 'em chairs there," Hagrid said, gesturing to an armchair as big as a closet. Hermione obeyed slavishly as Hagrid began bustling around his table, pouring the water and milk and melting the chocolate. It was a bit of time before he brought a large mug of cocoa over to her. It was clear that he had really made it for her right then instead of "jus'" making it before.

"Now," he began, sitting down on a bench opposite of her, "why don' yeh tell me what's really the problem. Have those two started ignorin' yeh again? Has the work load not improved? Heard yeh had a breakdown."

Hermione gave him a weak grin and took a sip of the cocoa. It burned her tongue. "Like him," she muttered, her tears starting again.

"Wha'?"

"I'm not sure whether it's something I'd really like to share, Hagrid," Hermione said, hoping she would not offend.

Hagrid nodded. "Boy trouble."

_No, not a boy, a man, a professor._ "You could say that."

"Wha'd he do? Did he hurt yeh?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I hurt myself. It wasn't his fault."

Hagrid squinted his eyes suspiciously. "Hermione, did you... do somethin'?"

Hermione looked down. Another tear felt a need to follow its brothers down her cheek and onto her robes. She nodded.

"Oh, Hermione, yeh weren' ready, were yeh?" he said knowingly.

She shook her head. "I didn't want to, but I had to," she murmured, fighting against the growing lump in her throat.

"Did 'e force yeh?"

She shook her head again.

"Then why'd yeh have teh?"

She began trembling with the effort. "It wasn't him that made me, it was... something else?"

Hagrid's mouth dropped open. "It wasn' a spell, was it?"

Hermione's head dropped her to chest and she drew her knees up. She let out a strangled sob.

"The devil. Who was it? Dumbledore'd like to know," Hagrid ranted, standing up and pacing the room in anger at Hermione's misfortune.

Hermione held out a hand to calm him. "He'll get punished. Don't worry, he's getting punished."

"Nothing is bad enough for the likes o' him for doin' this to yeh, Hermione. He should be expelled, he should," Hagrid protested savagely.

"He's getting punished worse than I was punished."

Hagrid turned to her, mouth twitching awkwardly. "Hermione, who'd yeh have teh--?"

"No, Hagrid," Hermione pleaded, "don't make me say. I can't... I need to forget. I just... need to forget." She buried her head in her arms.

Hagrid paused with his hand near his mouth, then he reached out and took Hermione in a giant embrace. "Ah'm so sorry, Hermione," he muttered as she bawled into his moleskin coat. "Ah'm so sorry it had teh happen t' yeh. Ah'm so sorry."

~888~

"Today, we will rebrew the Rejuvenation Potion. Your work last week was passable at best, but starting today, you will aim for perfection. Miss Granger, Miss Zabini, your potion was exceptional. You will begin our next application. Take your potion and apply it conservatively to this Gnarl. It has lost a limb, and Professor Sprout wishes to have it repaired. The strict laws against the Rejuvenation Potion's use is much more lenient with plant life. If your potion truly works and does not have any unseen flaws, the limb will grow into a replica of the branch it was before. You will all begin now. The ingredients are on the board."

Snape sat back in his chair and surveyed his classroom. Potter and Weasley were actually doing their work, avoiding his gaze as if he were a basilisk. Draco and Pansy were doing the same. Draco looked like he was walking on hot coals. Blaise kept sneaking glances at Hermione, who was also focused on her work, though Snape suspected it was for different reasons. Focusing on one aspect of life was the best way to alienate oneself from other aspects. Snape could name a few that she would want to alienate.

So why did he want to ask her to stay after class? Wasn't he the one who wanted her to pretend it had never happened, pretend each of them had not stepped over the line of duty?

He wanted to murder Draco Malfoy. Who would have thought consequences would be so complicated?

What if she had a baby because of this, just this one time?

_Three times, Casanova_, he thought, flinching slightly even as he became aroused at the thought. _Wonderful_. He rubbed his head, willing these persistent fantasies to go away. But they were so enticing. Of course, it would be Hermione Granger and one (_three_) tumbles to get him hard every time he looked at her.

_Then don't look at her._

"Miss Granger," he heard himself say.

Hermione looked up from observing the branch's progress. Was it just him, or did he see a flash of hurt in her eyes?

"See me after class."

Draco deviated from his mood and sneered nastily.

"Mr. Malfoy, mind your own business."

Everyone was shocked, but Snape just stood and entered his office. He needed to cool down before then.

Unfortunately, class ended long before he could get a hold on his physical sensations, and he tensed as Hermione came into the room.

"Professor?" Ah, she was as apprehensive and mixed up as he was, which meant that, as the adult, he had to be the one to keep himself together. Easier said than done.

"Miss Granger." He would not look at her, but he did not precisely know what to say either.

"Yes, Professor?"

Hermione stared at his back and found she was enchanted by the way his shoulders moved when he breathed. Then she caught herself and forced her mind on scholarly thoughts.

"Miss Granger, why did you have to kiss me before you left my rooms?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Was he still thinking about that? That he had not pushed it from his thoughts yet gave Hermione a certain smugness, but as she eventually realized why he had not forgotten it, she sobered.

She answered truthfully, "I don't know. I just... did. I didn't mean for it--"

Snape whipped around, eyes flashing angrily. "Didn't you?" He strode around his desk and took Hermione by the shoulders.

"Don't you understand?" he hissed. "This can't go on. It's impossible, the Headmaster knows, you're still a child and a student, there's no Dare." He seemed to be trying to convince himself more than her. "This can't happen. You shouldn't have done that because now... I..."

_Damn_, he thought as his head dipped down and took her mouth in a frustrated, hungry kiss. His hands relaxed their grip on her shoulders and pulled her closer. The kiss was different during the day, in the light. It was not repulsive, but more daring, more thrilling in the possibility of someone just opening the door. His tongue tasted the corner of her mouth.

"No," Hermione muttered as languor began to overtake her and his touch overwhelm her. "You were right. This can't happen." She was panting for breath even as she leaned toward him again.

But he backed away, clutching at his desk to keep himself away. He stumbled into a chair. "I don't understand, Miss Granger? Why is this--why do I want you still? I shouldn't--it was only one night..."

"I don't know."

He concentrated on breathing for a few moments, then he said, "When was the last time you had your period, Miss Granger?"

Hermione started, then blushed at the question, but replied, "Two weeks ago."

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. "Perfect. I may have impregnated you."

"I don't think you did," Hermione said, the likelihood nonetheless hitting her. "All the women on my mother's side have difficulties conceiving. There's usually one child every five years. If you _really_ want to have one, that is."

Snape nodded his head. "But the possibility is still there."

"Yes." Hermione looked at her hands.

"We cannot do this," Snape said softly. "It has to stop. Now. We have to make a concerted effort to avoid any contact or situation in which this could happen again."

Hermione agreed solemnly.

"No more meeting in my office, no stopping in the halls, we'll avoid each other in class. We just need to try harder."

Hermione agreed again.

"Then you have to go."

Hermione nodded, then stood to leave.

"Miss Granger," Snape said quickly.

Hermione turned around to face him, forcing herself to stay calm and collected. She saw that Snape was attempting to do the same. Fortunately, his experience in hiding his feelings paid off, and he pushed his momentary lapse of control behind him. Now, only a professorial visage remained. It took this little focused discussion to put everything he needed to know into perspective.

"If you find out you are pregnant, go to the Headmaster. He'll tell me, and we'll work it out through him as an intermediary, okay?" Snape murmured as gently as the Potions Professor ever could speak.

Hermione bit her lip, but silently nodded her head. She could not bring herself to speak.

"Now, leave," Snape commanded.

Hermione opened the door to his classroom and walked, dignified, from his room. Even though everything she had felt that morning was still there, she felt as though a hippogriff had been lifted from her shoulders. Now that Snape and she were going to force themselves in propriety, she knew they could. The area between her legs still ached, but maybe--just maybe--she could begin to heal. The single tear that leaked from her eye was the last one she would cry over Professor Snape for over five years.  



	12. Draco's Dare

**Epilogue: Draco's Dare**

Later that week in the middle of the Great Hall, Snape was having trouble eating. He wanted to check Hermione's welfare, but after telling the Headmaster of Hermione's Dare, the Headmaster himself was stealing glances at Snape. So he had to completely avoid the left half of the Hall and stare pointedly elsewhere.

Professor Dumbledore had taken the news surprisingly well and had expressed his amazement that the Dare had not been initiated before. He had developed what Snape recognized as the distress line in his brow, but Dumbledore also agreed with Snape that there was nothing they could have done and that it could have been worse. The only caution Dumbledore urged was not to tell Filch or Mrs. Norris of Draco's Dare.

Snape was watching Filch now. The caretaker was stroking his cat and glaring bitterly at the laughing and jocular children around him. When Snape caught a Slytherin standing in his peripheral vision, he did not see the characteristic white-blond hair immediately. As the white-blond head approached Filch, Snape nearly recoiled. Now? Draco was going to do his Dare now?

Draco, a grimace of revulsion and brilliant red cheeks painting his face, tapped Filch on the shoulder. When Filch responded, Draco took Mrs. Norris from his arms and threw her to the floor. Then he put both hands on either side of Filch's face and planted his lips on Filch's mouth.

Those who had not heard Mrs. Norris yowl could not ignore the ripple of laughter that progressed in a tidal wave through the room. Filch's bulging eyes coupled with Draco's beet red face as the latter initiated some major tongue action was priceless, and soon the entire Hall had laughed themselves into a hernia, or at least to tears.

The teachers were just speechless. Flitwick had dropped his chicken leg into his steamed peas, Hagrid was looking positively scandalized (unbeknownst to Snape, a disgusted flicker of comprehension flit in his eyes), and McGonagall was rushing behind the High Table to intervene. 

Snape pushed his chair back to impede her attempt.

"Severus, you can't possibly allow--?" McGonagall sputtered.

Snape stood. "Watch me," he said simply and sat down again.

McGonagall turned to Professor Dumbledore, who was trying vainly to hide a twinkle in his eyes on an otherwise solemn face. Hagrid stomped out of the room, the contents of his stomach about to escape.

By now, Draco had detached himself from Filch and had fled the Hall in shame. Filch looked thoroughly bewildered, nauseated, and ready to blow up the school. Snape felt now was the time to offer his condolences. As he went down the stairs to the student level, his eyes unconsciously turned to the Gryffindor table. Hermione was laughing with everyone else, but only Snape could discern the subtle discomfort despite her obvious mirth. Her eyes locked with his, and he knew their night had faded enough that she could let go of it as much as she ever would. He chanced a cynically raised eyebrow.

She grinned and shared the rest of clearly sweet revenge with Harry and Ron, who were still in stitches, doubled over from the pain in their sides.

So Snape let her go.

He led Filch into the Entrance Hall and explained. A severely sick Hagrid walked past them, murder in his eyes.

Filch rolled his yellowed eyes heavenward and wiped his mouth for the umpteenth time. "Again?" he asked.  



End file.
